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Title: The Purple Land

Author: W. H. Hudson

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[Illustration: RICHARD]


THE PURPLE LAND

Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda
Oriental, in South America, as Told By Himself

BY

W. H. Hudson

ILLUSTRATED BY

Keith Henderson



Second Edition, 1904


NEW YORK




PREFACE

This work was first issued in 1885, by Messrs. Sampson Low, in two
slim volumes, with the longer, and to most persons, enigmatical title
of _The Purple Land That England Lost_. A purple land may be found
in almost any region of the globe, and 'tis of our gains, not our
losses, we keep count. A few notices of the book appeared in the papers,
one or two of the more serious literary journals reviewing it (not
favourably) under the heading of "Travels and Geography"; but the
reading public cared not to buy, and it very shortly fell into oblivion.
There it might have remained for a further period of nineteen years,
or for ever, since the sleep of a book is apt to be of the unawakening
kind, had not certain men of letters, who found it on a forgotten heap
and liked it in spite of its faults, or because of them, concerned
themselves to revive it.

We are often told that an author never wholly loses his affection for
a first book, and the feeling has been likened (more than once) to
that of a parent towards a first-born. I have not said it, but in
consenting to this reprint I considered that a writer's early or
unregarded work is apt to be raked up when he is not standing by to
make remarks. He may be absent on a journey from which he is not
expected to return. It accordingly seemed better that I should myself
supervise a new edition, since this would enable me to remove a few
of the numerous spots and pimples which decorate the ingenious
countenance of the work before handing it on to posterity.

Besides many small verbal corrections and changes, the deletion of
some paragraphs and the insertion of a few new ones, I have omitted
one entire chapter containing the Story of a Piebald Horse, recently
reprinted in another book entitled _El Ombù_. I have also dropped
the tedious introduction to the former edition, only preserving, as
an appendix, the historical part, for the sake of such of my readers
as may like to have a few facts about the land that England lost.

W. H. H.

_September, 1904._

[FOR THE SECOND EDITION]


[Illustration: MARGARITA]

[Illustration: DOLORES]

[Illustration: PAQUÍTA]

[Illustration: TORIBIA]

[Illustration: MONICA]

[Illustration: ANITA]

[Illustration: SANTA COLOMA]

[Illustration: CANDELARIA]

[Illustration: DEMETRIA]

[Illustration: HILARIO]





CHAPTER I


Three chapters in the story of my life--three periods, distinct and
well defined, yet consecutive--beginning when I had not completed
twenty-five years and finishing before thirty, will probably prove the
most eventful of all. To the very end they will come back oftenest to
memory and seem more vivid than all the other years of existence--the
four-and-twenty I had already lived, and the, say, forty or
forty-five--I hope it may be fifty or even sixty--which are to follow.
For what soul in this wonderful, various world would wish to depart
before ninety! The dark as well as the light, its sweet and its bitter,
make me love it.

Of the first of these three a word only need be written. This was the
period of courtship and matrimony; and though the experience seemed
to me then something altogether new and strange in the world, it must
nevertheless have resembled that of other men, since all men marry.
And the last period, which was the longest of the three, occupying
fully three years, could not be told. It was all black disaster. Three
years of enforced separation and the extremest suffering which the
cruel law of the land allowed an enraged father to inflict on his child
and the man who had ventured to wed her against his will. Even the
wise may be driven mad by oppression, and I that was never wise, but
lived in and was led by the passions and illusions and the unbounded
self-confidence of youth, what must it have been for me when we were
cruelly torn asunder; when I was cast into prison to lie for long
months in the company of felons, ever thinking of her who was also
desolate and breaking her heart! But it is ended--the abhorrent
restraint, the anxiety, the breedings over a thousand possible and
impossible schemes of revenge. If it is any consolation to know that
in breaking her heart he, at the same time, broke his own, and made
haste to join her in that silent place, I have it. Ah no! it is no
comfort to me, since I cannot but reflect that before he shattered my
life I had shattered his by taking her from him, who was his idol. We
are quits then, and I can even say, "Peace to his ashes!" But I could
not say it then in my frenzy and grief, nor could it be said in that
fatal country which I had inhabited from boyhood and had learned to
love like my own, and had hoped never to leave. It was grown hateful
to me, and, flying from it, I found myself once more in that Purple
Land where we had formerly taken refuge together, and which now seemed
to my distracted mind a place of pleasant and peaceful memories.

During the months of quietude after the storm, mostly spent in lonely
rambles by the shore, these memories were more and more with me.
Sometimes sitting on the summit of that great solitary hill, which
gives the town its name, I would gaze by the hour on the wide prospect
towards the interior, as if I could see, and never weary of seeing,
all that lay beyond--plains and rivers and woods and hills, and cabins
where I had rested, and many a kindly human face. Even the faces of
those who had ill-treated or regarded me with evil eyes now appeared
to have a friendly look. Most of all did I think of that dear river,
the unforgettable Yí, the shaded white house at the end of the little
town, and the sad and beautiful image of one whom I, alas! had made
unhappy.

So much was I occupied towards the end of that vacant period with these
recollections that I remembered how, before quitting these shores, the
thought had come to me that during some quiet interval in my life I
would go over it all again, and write the history of my rambles for
others to read in the future. But I did not attempt it then, nor until
long years afterwards. For I had no sooner begun to play with the idea
than something came to rouse me from the state I was in, during which
I had been like one that has outlived his activities, and is no longer
capable of a new emotion, but feeds wholly on the past. And this
something new, affecting me so that I was all at once myself again,
eager to be up and doing, was nothing more than a casual word from a
distance, the cry of a lonely heart, which came by chance to my ear;
and, hearing it, I was like one who, opening his eyes from a troubled
doze, unexpectedly sees the morning star in its unearthly lustre above
the wide, dark plain where night overtook him--the star of day and
everlasting hope, and of passion and strife and toil and rest and
happiness.

I need not linger on the events which took us to the Banda--our
nocturnal flight from Paquíta's summer home on the pampas; the hiding
and clandestine marriage in the capital and subsequent escape northwards
into the province of Santa Fé; the seven to eight months of somewhat
troubled happiness we had there; and, finally, the secret return to
Buenos Ayres in search of a ship to take us out of the country. Troubled
happiness! Ah, yes, and my greatest trouble was when I looked on her,
my partner for life, when she seemed loveliest, so small, so exquisite
in her dark blue eyes that were like violets, and silky black hair and
tender pink and olive complexion--so frail in appearance! And I had
taken her--stolen her--from her natural protectors, from the home where
she had been worshipped--I of an alien race and another religion,
without means, and, because I had stolen her, an offender against the
law. But of this no more. I begin my itinerary where, safe on our
little ship, with the towers of Buenos Ayres fast fading away in the
west, we began to feel free from apprehension and to give ourselves
up to the contemplation of the delights before us. Winds and waves
presently interfered with our raptures, Paquíta proving a very
indifferent sailor, so that for some hours we had a very trying time
of it. Next day a favourable north-west breeze sprang up to send us
flying like a bird over those unlovely red billows, and in the evening
we disembarked in Montevideo, the city of refuge. We proceeded to an
hotel, where for several days we lived very happily, enchanted with
each other's society; and when we strolled along the beach to watch
the setting sun, kindling with mystic fire heaven, water, and the great
hill that gives the city its name, and remembered that we were looking
towards the shores of Buenos Ayres, it was pleasant to reflect that
the widest river in the world rolled between us and those who probably
felt offended at what we had done.

This charming state of things came to an end at length in a somewhat
curious manner. One night, before we had been a month in the hotel,
I was lying wide awake in bed. It was late; I had already heard the
mournful, long-drawn voice of the watchman under my window calling
out, "Half-past one and cloudy."

Gil Blas relates in his biography that one night while lying awake he
fell into practising a little introspection, an unusual thing for him
to do, and the conclusion he came to was that he was not a very good
young man. I was having a somewhat similar experience that night when
in the midst of my unflattering thoughts about myself, a profound sigh
from Paquíta made me aware that she too was lying wide awake and also,
in all probability, chewing the cud of reflection. When I questioned
her concerning that sigh, she endeavoured in vain to conceal from me
that she was beginning to feel unhappy. What a rude shock the discovery
gave me! And we so lately married! It is only just to Paquíta, however,
to say that had I not married her she would have been still more
unhappy. Only the poor child could not help thinking of father and
mother; she yearned for reconciliation, and her present sorrow rose
from her belief that they would never, never, never forgive her. I
endeavoured, with all the eloquence I was capable of, to dispel these
gloomy ideas, but she was firm in her conviction that precisely because
they had loved her so much they would never pardon this first great
offence. My poor darling might have been reading _Christabel_,
I thought, when she said that it is toward those who have been most
deeply loved the wounded heart cherishes the greatest bitterness. Then,
by way of illustration, she told me of a quarrel between her mother
and a till then dearly loved sister. It had happened many years ago,
when she, Paquíta, was a mere child; yet the sisters had never forgiven
each other.

"And where," I asked, "is this aunt of yours, of whom I have never
heard you speak until this minute?"

"Oh," answered Paquíta, with the greatest simplicity imaginable, "she
left this country long, long ago, and you never heard of her because
we were not even allowed to mention her name in the house. She went
to live in Montevideo, and I believe she is there still, for several
years ago I heard some person say that she had bought herself a house
in that city."

"Soul of my life," said I, "you have never left Buenos Ayres in heart,
even to keep your poor husband company! Yet I know, Paquíta, that
corporeally you are here in Montevideo, conversing with me at this
very moment."

"True," said Paquíta; "I had somehow forgotten that we were in
Montevideo. My thoughts were wandering--perhaps it is sleepiness."

"I swear to you, Paquíta," I replied, "that you shall see this aunt
of yours to-morrow before set of sun; and I am positive, sweetest,
that she will be delighted to receive so near and lovely a relation.
How glad she will be of an opportunity of relating that ancient quarrel
with her sister and ventilating her mouldy grievances! I know these
old dames--they are all alike."

Paquíta did not like the idea at first, but when I assured her that
we were getting to the end of our money, and that her aunt might be
able to put me in the way of obtaining employment, she consented, like
the dutiful little wife she was.

Next day I discovered her relation without very much trouble, Montevideo
not being a large city. We found Doña Isidora--for that was the lady's
name--living in a somewhat mean-looking house at the eastern extremity
of the town, farthest away from the water. There was an air of poverty
about the place, for the good dame, though well provided with means
to live comfortably, made a pet of her gold. Nevertheless, she received
us very kindly when we introduced ourselves and related our mournful
and romantic story; a room was prepared for our immediate reception,
and she even made me some vague promises of assistance. On a more
intimate acquaintance with our hostess we found that I had not been
very far out in guessing her character. For several days she could
talk of nothing except her immemorial quarrel with her sister and her
sister's husband, and we were bound to listen attentively and to
sympathise with her, for that was the only return we could make for
her hospitality. Paquíta had more than her share of it, but was made
no wiser as to the cause of this feud of long standing; for, though
Doña Isidora had evidently been nursing her wrath all those years to
keep it warm, she could not, for the life of her, remember how the
quarrel originated.

After breakfast each morning I would kiss her and hand her over to the
tender mercies of her Isidora, then go forth on my fruitless
perambulations about the town. At first I only acted the intelligent
foreigner, going about staring at the public buildings, and collecting
curios--strangely marked pebbles, and a few military brass buttons,
long shed by the garments they once made brave; rusty, misshapen
bullets, mementoes of the immortal nine or ten years' siege which had
won for Montevideo the mournful appellation of modern Troy. When I had
fully examined from the outside the scene of my future triumphs--for
I had now resolved to settle down and make my fortune in Montevideo--
Ibegan seriously to look out for employment. I visited in turn every
large mercantile establishment in the place, and, in fact, every house
where I thought there might be a chance of lighting on something to
do. It was necessary to make a beginning, and I would not have turned
up my nose at anything, however small, I was so heartily sick of being
poor, idle, and dependent. Nothing could I find. In one house I was
told that the city had not yet recovered from the effects of the late
revolution, and that business was, in consequence, in a complete state
of paralysis; in another that the city was on the eve of a revolution,
and that business was, in consequence, in a complete state of paralysis.
And everywhere it was the same story--the political state of the country
made it impossible for me to win an honest dollar.

Feeling very much dispirited, and with the soles nearly worn off my
boots, I sat down on a bench beside the sea, or river--for some call
it one thing, some the other, and the muddied hue and freshness of the
water, and the uncertain words of geographers, leave one in doubt as
to whether Montevideo is situated on the shores of the Atlantic, or
only near the Atlantic and on the shores of a river one hundred and
fifty miles wide at its mouth. I did not trouble my head about it; I
had other things that concerned me more nearly to think of. I had a
quarrel with this Oriental nation, and that was more to me than the
greenness or the saltness of the vast estuary that washes the dirty
feet of its queen--for this modern Troy, this city of battle, murder,
and sudden death, also calls itself Queen of the Plata. That it was
a very just quarrel on my part I felt well assured. Now, to be even
with every human being who despitefully uses me has ever been a
principle of action with me. Nor let it be said that it is an
unchristian principle; for when I have been smitten on the right or
left cheek (the pain is just the same in either case), before I am
prepared to deliver the return blow so long a time has often elapsed
that all wrathful or revengeful thoughts are over. I strike in such
a case more for the public good than for my own satisfaction, and am
therefore right in calling my motive a principle of action, not an
impulse. It is a very valuable one too, infinitely more effective than
the fantastical code of the duellist, which favours the person who
inflicts the injury, affording him facilities for murdering or maiming
the person injured. It is a weapon invented for us by Nature before
Colonel Colt ever lived, and it has this advantage, that one is
permitted to wear it in the most law-abiding communities as well as
amongst miners and backwoodsmen. If inoffensive people were ever to
cast it aside, then wicked men would have everything their own way and
make life intolerable. Fortunately the evil-doers always have the fear
of this intangible six-shooter before them; a wholesome feeling, which
restrains them more than reasonableness or the law courts, and to which
we owe it that the meek are permitted to inherit the earth. But now
this quarrel was with a whole nation, though certainly not with a very
great one, since the population of the Banda Orientál numbers only
about a quarter of a million. Yet in this sparsely settled country,
with its bountiful soil and genial climate, there was apparently no
place for me, a muscular and fairly intelligent young man, who only
asked to be allowed to work to live! But how was I to make them smart
for this injustice? I could not take the scorpion they gave me when
I asked them for an egg, and make it sting every individual composing
the nation. I was powerless, utterly powerless, to punish them, and
therefore the only thing that remained for me to do was to curse them.

Looking around me, my eyes rested on the famous hill across the bay,
and I all at once resolved to go up to its summit, and, looking down
on the Banda Orientál, pronounce my imprecation in the most solemn and
impressive manner.

The expedition to the _cerro_, as it is called, proved agreeable
enough. Notwithstanding the excessive heats we were just then having,
many wild flowers were blooming on its slopes, which made it a perfect
garden. When I reached the old ruined fort which crowns the summit,
I got upon a wall and rested for half an hour, fanned by a fresh breeze
from the river and greatly enjoying the prospect before me. I had not
left out of sight the serious object of my visit to that commanding
spot, and only wished that the malediction I was about to utter could
be rolled down in the shape of a stupendous rock, loosed from its hold,
which would go bounding down the mountain, and, leaping clear over the
bay, crash through the iniquitous city beyond, filling it with ruin
and amazement.

"Whichever way I turn," I said, "I see before me one of the fairest
habitations God has made for man: great plains smiling with everlasting
spring; ancient woods; swift, beautiful rivers; ranges of blue hills
stretching away to the dim horizon. And beyond those fair slopes, how
many leagues of pleasant wilderness are sleeping in the sunshine, where
the wild flowers waste their sweetness and no plough turns the fruitful
soil, where deer and ostrich roam fearless of the hunter, while over
all bends a blue sky without a cloud to stain its exquisite beauty?
And the people dwelling in yon city--the key to a continent--they are
the possessors of it all. It is theirs, since the world, out of which
the old spirit is fast dying, has suffered them to keep it. What have
they done with this their heritage? What are they doing even now? They
are sitting dejected in their houses, or standing in their doorways
with folded arms and anxious, expectant faces. For a change is coming:
they are on the eve of a tempest. Not an atmospheric change; no
blighting simoom will sweep over their fields, nor will any volcanic
eruption darken their crystal heavens. The earthquakes that shake the
Andean cities to their foundations they have never known and can never
know. The expected change and tempest is a political one. The plot is
ripe, the daggers sharpened, the contingent of assassins hired, the
throne of human skulls, styled in their ghastly facetiousness a
Presidential Chair, is about to be assaulted. It is long, weeks or
even months, perhaps, since the last wave, crested with bloody froth,
rolled its desolating flood over the country; it is high time,
therefore, for all men to prepare themselves for the shock of the
succeeding wave. And we consider it right to root up thorns and
thistles, to drain malarious marshes, to extirpate rats and vipers;
but it would be immoral, I suppose, to stamp out these people because
their vicious natures are disguised in human shape; this people that
in crimes have surpassed all others, ancient or modern, until because
of them the name of a whole continent has grown to be a byword of scorn
and reproach throughout the earth, and to stink in the nostrils of all
men!

"I swear that I, too, will become a conspirator if I remain long on
this soil. Oh, for a thousand young men of Devon and Somerset here
with me, every one of them with a brain on fire with thoughts like
mine! What a glorious deed would be done for humanity! What a mighty
cheer we would raise for the glory of the old England that is passing
away! Blood would flow in yon streets as it never flowed before, or,
I should say, as it only flowed in them once, and that was when they
were swept clean by British bayonets. And afterwards there would be
peace, and the grass would be greener and the flowers brighter for
that crimson shower.

"Is it not then bitter as wormwood and gall to think that over these
domes and towers beneath my feet, no longer than half a century ago,
fluttered the holy cross of St. George! For never was there a holier
crusade undertaken, never a nobler conquest planned, than that which
had for its object the wresting this fair country from unworthy hands,
to make it for all time part of the mighty English kingdom. What would
it have been now--this bright, winterless land, and this city commanding
the entrance to the greatest river in the world? And to think that it
was won for England, not treacherously, or bought with gold, but in
the old Saxon fashion with hard blows, and climbing over heaps of slain
defenders; and after it was thus won, to think that it was lost--will
it be believed?--not fighting, but yielded up without a stroke by
craven wretches unworthy of the name of Britons! Here, sitting alone
on this mountain, my face burns like fire when I think of it--this
glorious opportunity lost for ever! 'We offer you your laws, your
religion, and property under the protection of the British Government,'
loftily proclaimed the invaders--Generals Beresford, Achmuty,
Whitelocke, and their companions; and presently, after suffering one
reverse, they (or one of them) lost heart and exchanged the country
they had drenched in blood, and had conquered, for a couple of thousand
British soldiers made prisoners in Buenos Ayres across the water; then,
getting into their ships once more, they sailed away from the Plata
for ever! This transaction, which must have made the bones of our
Viking ancestors rattle with indignation in their graves, was forgotten
later on when we seized the rich Falklands. A splendid conquest and
a glorious compensation for our loss! When yon queen city was in our
grasp, and the regeneration, possibly even the ultimate possession,
of this green world before us, our hearts failed us and the prize
dropped from our trembling hands. We left the sunny mainland to capture
the desolate haunt of seals and penguins; and now let all those who
in this quarter of the globe aspire to live under that 'British
Protection' of which Achmuty preached so loudly at the gates of yon
capital, transport themselves to those lonely antarctic islands to
listen to the thunder of the waves on the grey shores and shiver in
the bleak winds that blow from the frozen south!"

After delivering this comminatory address I felt greatly relieved, and
went home in a cheerful frame of mind to supper, which consisted that
evening of mutton scrag, boiled with pumpkin, sweet potatoes, and milky
maize--not at all a bad dish for a hungry man.



CHAPTER II

Several days passed, and my second pair of boots had been twice resoled
before Doña Isidora's schemes for advancing my fortunes began to take
form. Perhaps she was beginning to think us a burden on her somewhat
niggardly establishment; anyway, hearing that my preference was for
a country life, she gave me a letter containing half a dozen lines of
commendation addressed to the Mayordomo of a distant cattle-breeding
establishment, asking him to serve the writer by giving her
_nephew_--as she called me--employment of some kind on the
_estancia_. Probably she knew that this letter would really lead
to nothing, and gave it merely to get me away into the interior of the
country, so as to keep Paquíta for an indefinite time to herself, for
she had become extremely attached to her beautiful niece. The
_estancia_ was on the borders of the Paysandù department, and not
less than two hundred miles from Montevideo. It was a long journey,
and I was advised not to attempt it without a _tropilla_, or troop
of horses. But when a native tells you that you cannot travel two
hundred miles without a dozen horses, he only means that you cannot
do the distance in two days; for it is hard for him to believe that
one may be satisfied with less than one hundred miles a day. I travelled
on one horse, and it therefore took me several days to accomplish my
journey. Before I reached my destination, called Estancia de la Virgin
de los Desamparados, I met with some adventures worth relating, and
began to feel as much at home with the _Orientáles_ as I had long
been with the _Argentinos_.

Fortunately, after I left the town, a west wind continued blowing all
day, bringing with it many light, flying clouds to mitigate the sun,
so that I was able to cover a good number of leagues before the evening.
I took the road northwards through Camelones department, and was well
on into the Florida department when I put up for the night at the
solitary mud _rancho_ of an old herdsman, who lived with his wife
and children in a very primitive fashion. When I rode up to the house,
several huge dogs rushed out to attack me: one seized my horse by the
tail, dragging the poor beast about this way and that, so that he
staggered and could scarcely keep his legs; another caught the
bridle-reins in his mouth; while a third fixed his fangs in the heel
of my boot. After eyeing me for some moments, the grizzled old herdsman,
who wore a knife a yard long at his waist, advanced to the rescue. He
shouted at the dogs, and finding that they would not obey, sprang
forward and with a few dexterous blows, dealt with his heavy
whip-handle, sent them away howling with rage and pain. Then he welcomed
me with great courtesy, and very soon, when my horse had been unsaddled
and turned loose to feed, we were sitting together enjoying the cool
evening air and imbibing the bitter and refreshing _maté_ his
wife served to us. While we conversed I noticed numberless fireflies
flitting about; I had never seen them so numerous before, and they
made a very lovely show. Presently one of the children, a bright little
fellow of seven or eight, came running to us with one of the sparkling
insects in his hand, and cried:

"Look, _tatita_, I have caught a _linterna_. See how bright it is!"

"The Saints forgive you, my child," said the father. "Go, little son,
and put it back on the grass, for if you should hurt it, the spirits
would be angry with you, for they go about by night, and love the
_linterna_ that keeps them company."

What a pretty superstition, I thought; and what a mild, merciful heart
this old Oriental herdsman must possess to show so much tenderness
towards one of God's tiny creatures. I congratulated myself on my good
fortune in having fallen in with such a person in this lonely place.

The dogs, after their rude behaviour to me and the sharp punishment
they had suffered in consequence, had returned, and were now gathered
around us, lying on the ground. Here I noticed, not for the first time,
that the dogs belonging to these lonely places are not nearly so fond
of being noticed and caressed as are those of more populous and
civilised districts. On attempting to stroke one of these surly brutes
on the head, he displayed his teeth and growled savagely at me. Yet
this animal, though so truculent in temper, and asking for no kindness
from his master, is just as faithful to man as his better-mannered
brother in the more settled country. I spoke on that subject to my
gentle herdsman.

"What you say is true," he replied. "I remember once during the siege
of Montevideo, when I was with a small detachment sent to watch the
movements of General Rivera's army, we one day overtook a man on a
tired horse. Our officer, suspecting him to be a spy, ordered him to
be killed, and, after cutting his throat, we left his body lying on
the open ground at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards
from a small stream of water. A dog was with him, and when we rode off
we called it to follow us, but it would not stir from its dead master's
side.

"Three days later we returned to the same spot, to find the corpse
lying just where we had left it. The foxes and birds had not touched
it, for the dog was still there to defend it. Many vultures were near,
waiting for a chance to begin their feast. We alighted to refresh
ourselves at the stream, then stood there for half an hour watching
the dog. He seemed to be half-famished with thirst, and came towards
the stream to drink; but before he got half-way to it the vultures,
by twos and threes, began to advance, when back he flew and chased
them away, barking. After resting a few minutes beside the corpse, he
came again towards the stream, till, seeing the hungry birds advance
once more, he again flew back at them, barking furiously and foaming
at the mouth. This we saw repeated many times, and at last, when we
left, we tried once more to entice the dog to follow us, but he would
not. Two days after that we had occasion to pass by that spot again,
and there we saw the dog lying dead beside his dead master."

"Good God," I exclaimed, "how horrible must have been the feelings you
and your companions experienced at such a sight!"

"No, señor, not at all," replied the old man. "Why, señor, I myself
put the knife into that man's throat. For if a man did not grow
accustomed to shed blood in this world, his life would be a burden to
him."

What an inhuman old murderer! I thought. Then I asked him whether he
had ever in his life felt remorse for shedding blood.

"Yes," he answered; "when I was a very young man, and had never before
dipped weapon in human blood; that was when the siege began. I was
sent with half a dozen men in pursuit of a clever spy, who had passed
the lines with letters from the besieged. We came to a house where,
our officer had been informed, he had been lying concealed. The master
of the house was a young man about twenty-two years old. He would
confess nothing. Finding him so stubborn, our officer became enraged,
and bade him step out, and then ordered us to lance him. We galloped
forty yards off, then wheeled back. He stood silent, his arms folded
on his breast, a smile on his lips. Without a cry, without a groan,
with that smile still on his lips, he fell pierced through with our
lances. For days afterwards his face was ever present to me. I could
not eat, for my food choked me. When I raised a jug of water to my
lips I could, señor, distinctly see his eyes looking at me from the
water. When I lay down to sleep, his face was again before me, always
with that smile that seemed to mock me on the lips. I could not
understand it. They told me it was remorse, and that it would soon
leave me, for there is no ill that time will not cure. They spoke
truth, and when that feeling left me I was able to do all things."

The old man's story so sickened me that I had little appetite for
supper, and passed a bad night thinking, waking or sleeping, of that
young man in this obscure corner of the world who folded his arms and
smiled on his slayers when they were slaying him. Very early next
morning I bade my host good-bye, thanking him for his hospitality, and
devoutly hoping that I should never look upon his abhorred face again.

I made little progress that day, the weather proving hot, and my horse
lazier than ever. After riding about five leagues, I rested for a
couple of hours, then proceeded again at a gentle trot till about the
middle of the afternoon, when I dismounted at a wayside _pulpería_
or store and public-house all in one, where several natives were sipping
rum and conversing. Standing before them was a brisk-looking old
man--old, I say, because he had a dark, dry skin, though his hair and
moustache were black as jet--who paused in the discourse he appeared
to be delivering, to salute me; then, after bestowing a searching
glance on me out of his dark, hawk-like eyes, he resumed his talk.
After calling for rum and water, to be in the fashion, I sat down on
a bench, and, lighting a cigarette, prepared to listen. He was dressed
in shabby gaucho habiliments--cotton shirt, short jacket, wide cotton
drawers, and _chiripa_, a shawl-like garment fastened at the waist
with a sash, and reaching down half-way between the knees and ankles.
In place of a hat he wore a cotton handkerchief tied carelessly about
his head; his left foot was bare, while the right one was cased in a
colt's-skin stocking, called _bota-de-potro_, and on this
distinguished foot was buckled a huge iron spur, with spikes two inches
long. One spur of the kind would be quite sufficient, I should imagine,
to get out of a horse all the energy of which he was capable. When I
entered he was holding forth on the pretty well-worn theme of fate
_versus_ free will; his arguments were not, however, the usual
dry philosophical ones, but took the form of illustration, chiefly
personal reminiscences and strange incidents in the lives of people
he had known, while so vivid and minute were his descriptions--sparkling
with passion, satire, humour, pathos, and so dramatic his action, while
wonderful story followed story--that I was fairly astonished, and
pronounced this old _pulpería_ orator a born genius.

His argument over, he fixed his keen eyes on me and said:

"My friend, I perceive you are a traveller from Montevideo: may I ask
what news there is from that city?"

"What news do you expect to hear?" said I; then it came into my thought
that it was scarcely proper to confine myself to more commonplace
phrases in replying to this curious old Oriental bird, with such ragged
plumage, but whose native woodnotes wild had such a charm in them. "It
is only the old story over again!" I continued. "They say there will
be a revolution some day. Some of the people have already retired into
their houses, after chalking in very big letters on their front doors,
'Please come into this house and cut the owner's throat for him, so
that he may rest at peace, and have no fear of what may happen.' Others
have climbed on to their roofs, and occupy themselves there looking
at the moon through spy-glasses, thinking that the conspirators are
concealed in that luminary, and only waiting for a cloud to obscure
it, in order to descend upon the city unobserved."

"Hear!" cried the old man, rapping delighted applause on the counter
with his empty glass.

"What do you drink, friend?" I asked, thinking his keen appreciation
of my grotesque speech deserved a treat, and wishing to draw him out
a little more.

"Rum, friend, thank you. They say it warms you in winter, and cools
you in summer--what can you have better?"

"Tell me," said I, when his glass had been refilled by the storekeeper,
"what I shall say when I return to Montevideo, and am asked what news
there is in the country?"

The old fellow's eyes twinkled, while the other men ceased talking,
and looked at him as if anticipating something good in reply to my
question.

"Say to them," he answered, "that you met an old man--a horse tamer
named Lucero--and that he told you this fable for you to repeat to the
townspeople: Once there was a great tree named Montevideo growing in
this country, and in its branches lived a colony of monkeys. One day
one of the monkeys came down from the tree and ran full of excitement
across the plain, now scrambling along like a man on all fours, then
erect like a dog running on its hind legs, while its tail, with nothing
to catch hold of, wriggled about like a snake when its head is under
foot. He came to a place where a number of oxen were grazing, and some
horses, ostriches, deer, goats, and pigs. 'Friends all,' cried the
monkey, grinning like a skull, and with staring eyes round as dollars,
'great news! great news! I come to tell you that there will shortly
be a revolution.' 'Where?' said an ox. 'In the tree--where else?' said
the monkey. 'That does not concern us,' said the ox. 'Oh, yes, it
does!' cried the monkey, 'for it will presently spread about the country
and you will all have your throats cut.' Then the ox replied, 'Go back,
monkey, and do not molest us with your news, lest we get angry and go
to besiege you in your tree, as we have often had to do since the
creation of the world; and then, if you and the other monkeys come
down to us, we will toss you on our horns.'"

This apologue sounded very well, so admirably did the old man picture
to us with voice and gesture the chattering excitement of the monkey
and the majestic _aplomb_ of the ox.

"Señor," he continued, after the laugh had subsided, "I do not wish
any of my friends and neighbours here present to fly to the conclusion
that I have spoken anything offensive. Had I seen in you a Montevidean
I should not have spoken of monkeys. But, señor, though you speak as
we do, there is yet in the pepper and salt on your tongue a certain
foreign flavour."

"You are right," I said; "I am a foreigner."

"A foreigner in some things, friend, for you were doubtless born under
other skies; but in that chief quality, which we think was given by
the Creator to us and not to the people of other lands--the ability
to be one in heart with the men you meet, whether they are clothed in
velvet or in sheep-skins--in that you are one of us, a pure Oriental."

I smiled at his subtle flattery; possibly it was only meant in payment
of the rum I had treated him to, but it pleased me none the less, and
to his other mental traits I was now inclined to add a marvellous skill
in reading character.

After a while he invited me to spend the night under his roof. "Your
horse is fat and lazy," he said with truth, "and, unless you are a
relation of the owl family, you cannot go much farther before to-morrow.
My house is a humble one, but the mutton is juicy, the fire warm, and
the water cool there, the same as in another place."

I readily accepted his invitation, wishing to see as much as I could
of so original a character, and before starting I purchased a bottle
of rum, which made his eyes sparkle so that I thought his
name--Lucero--rather an appropriate one. His _rancho_ was about
two miles from the store, and our ride thither was about as strange
a gallop as I ever took. Lucero was a _domador_, or horse-tamer,
and the beast he rode was quite unbroken and vicious as it could be.
Between horse and man a fierce struggle for mastery raged the whole
time, the horse rearing, plunging, buck-jumping, and putting into
practice every conceivable trick to rid itself of its burden; while
Lucero plied whip and spur with tremendous energy and poured out
torrents of strange adjectives. At one moment he would come into violent
collision with my old sober beast, at another there would be fifty
yards of ground between us; still Lucero would not stop talking, for
he had begun a very interesting story at starting, and he stuck to his
narrative through everything, resuming the thread after each tempest
of execration vented on his horse, and raising his voice almost to a
shout when we were far apart. The old fellow's staying powers were
really extraordinary, and when we arrived at the house he jumped airily
to the ground, and seemed fresh and calm as possible.

In the kitchen were several people sipping _maté_, Lucero's
children and grandchildren, also his wife, a grey old dame with
dim-looking eyes. But then my host was old in years himself, only,
like Ulysses, he still possessed the unquenched fire and energy of
youth in his soul, while time bestowed infirmities together with
wrinkles and white hairs on his helpmate.

He introduced me to her in a manner that brought the modest flame to
my cheeks. Standing before her, he said that he had met me at the
_pulpería_ and had put to me the question which a simple old
countryman must ask of every traveller from Montevideo--What the news
was? Then, assuming a dry, satirical tone, which years of practice
would not enable me to imitate, he proceeded to give my fantastical
answer, garnished with much original matter of his own.

"Señora," I said, when he had finished, "you must not give me credit
for all you have heard from your husband. I only gave him brute wool,
and he has woven it for your delight into beautiful cloth."

"Hear him! Did I tell you what to expect, Juana?" cried the old man,
which made me blush still more.

We then settled down to _maté_ and quiet conversation. Sitting
in the kitchen on the skull of a horse--a common article of furniture
in an Oriental _rancho_--was a boy about twelve years old, one
of Lucero's grandchildren, with a very beautiful face. His feet were
bare and his clothes very poor, but his soft dark eyes and olive face
had that tender, half-melancholy expression often seen in children of
Spanish origin, which is always so strangely captivating.

"Where is your guitar, Cipriano?" said his grandfather, addressing
him, whereupon the boy rose and fetched a guitar, which he first
politely offered to me.

When I had declined it, he seated himself once more on his polished
horse-skull and began to play and sing. He had a sweet boy's voice,
and one of his ballads took my fancy so much that I made him repeat
the words to me while I wrote them down in my notebook, which greatly
gratified Lucero, who seemed proud of the boy's accomplishment. Here
are the words translated almost literally, therefore without rhymes,
and I only regret that I cannot furnish my musical readers with the
quaint, plaintive air they were sung to:

    O let me go--O let me go,
    Where high are born amidst the hills
    The streams that gladden all the south,
    And o'er the grassy desert wide,
    Where slakes his thirst the antlered deer,
    Hurry towards the great green ocean.

    The stony hills--the stony hills,
    With azure air-flowers on their crags,
    Where cattle stray unowned by man;
    The monarch of the herd there seems
    No bigger than my hand in size,
    Roaming along the tall, steep summit.

    I know them well--I know them well,
    Those hills of God, and they know me;
    When I go there they are serene,
    But when the stranger visits them
    Dark rain-clouds gather round their tops--
    Over the earth goes forth the tempest.

    Then tell me not--then tell me not
    'Tis sorrowful to dwell alone;
    My heart within the city pent
    Pines for the desert's liberty;
    The streets are red with blood, and fear
    Makes pale and mournful women's faces.

    O bear me far--O bear me far,
    On swift, sure feet, my trusty steed:
    I do not love the burial-ground,
    But I shall sleep upon the plain,
    Where long green grass shall round me wave--
    Over me graze wild herds of cattle.




CHAPTER III


Leaving the eloquent old horse-tamer's _rancho_ early next morning,
I continued my ride, jogging quietly along all day and, leaving the
Florida department behind me, entered upon that of the Durazno. Here
I broke my journey at an _estancia_ where I had an excellent
opportunity of studying the manners and customs of the Orientals, and
where I also underwent experiences of a mixed character and greatly
increased my knowledge of the insect world. This house, at which I
arrived an hour before sunset to ask for shelter ("permission to
unsaddle" is the expression the traveller uses), was a long, low
structure, thatched with rushes, but the low, enormously thick walls
were built of stone from the neighbouring sierras, in pieces of all
shapes and sizes, and presenting, outwardly, the rough appearance of
a stone fence. How these rudely piled-up stones, without cement to
hold them together, had not fallen down was a mystery to me; and it
was more difficult still to imagine why the rough interior, with its
innumerable dusty holes and interstices, had never been plastered.

I was kindly received by a very numerous family, consisting of the
owner, his hoary-headed old mother-in-law, his wife, three sons, and
five daughters, all grown up. There were also several small children,
belonging, I believe, to the daughters, notwithstanding the fact that
they were unmarried. I was greatly amazed at hearing the name of one
of these youngsters. Such Christian names as Trinity, Heart of Jesus,
Nativity, John of God, Conception, Ascension, Incarnation, are common
enough, but these had scarcely prepared me to meet with a
fellow-creature named--well, Circumcision! Besides the people, there
were dogs, cats, turkeys, ducks, geese, and fowls without number. Not
content with all these domestic birds and beasts, they also kept a
horrid, shrieking paroquet, which the old woman was incessantly talking
to, explaining to the others all the time, in little asides, what the
bird said or wished to say, or, rather, what she imagined it wished
to say. There were also several tame young ostriches, always hanging
about the big kitchen or living-room on the look-out for a brass
thimble, or iron spoon, or other little metallic _bonne bouche_
to be gobbled up when no one was looking. A pet armadillo kept trotting
in and out, in and out, the whole evening, and a lame gull was always
standing on the threshold in everybody's way, perpetually wailing for
something to eat--the most persistent beggar I ever met in my life.

The people were very jovial, and rather industrious for so indolent
a country. The land was their own, the men tended the cattle, of which
they appeared to have a large number, while the women made cheeses,
rising before daylight to milk the cows.

During the evening two or three young men--neighbours, I imagine, who
were paying their addresses to the young ladies of the establishment--
dropped in; and after a plentiful supper, we had singing and dancing to
the music of the guitar, on which every member of the family--excepting
the babies--could strum a little.

About eleven o'clock I retired to rest, and, stretching myself on my
rude bed of rugs, in a room adjoining the kitchen, I blessed these
simple-minded, hospitable people. Good heavens, thought I to myself,
what a glorious field is waiting here for some new Theocritus! How
unutterably worn out, stilted, and artificial seems all the so-called
pastoral poetry ever written when one sits down to supper and joins
in the graceful _Cielo_ or _Pericon_ in one of these remote,
semi-barbarous South American _estancias_! I swear I will turn poet
myself, and go back some day to astonish old _blasé_ Europe with
something so--so--What the deuce was that? My sleepy soliloquy was
suddenly brought to a most lame and impotent conclusion, for I had
heard a sound of terror--the unmistakable _zz-zzing_ of an insect's
wings. It was the hateful _vinchuca_. Here was an enemy against
which British pluck and six-shooters are of no avail, and in whose
presence one begins to experience sensations which are not usually
supposed to enter into the brave man's breast. Naturalists tell us
that it is the _Connorhinus infectans_, but, as that information
leaves something to be desired, I will proceed in a few words to
describe the beast. It inhabits the entire Chilian, Argentine, and
Oriental countries, and to all the dwellers in this vast territory it
is known as the _vinchuca_; for, like a few volcanoes, deadly
vipers, cataracts, and other sublime natural objects, it has been
permitted to keep the ancient name bestowed on it by the aborigines.
It is all over of a blackish-brown colour, as broad as a man's
thumb-nail, and flat as the blade of a table-knife--when fasting. By
day it hides, bug-like, in holes and chinks, but no sooner are the
candles put out, than forth it comes to seek whom it may devour; for,
like the pestilence, it walks in darkness. It can fly, and in a dark
room knows where you are and can find you. Having selected a nice
tender part, it pierces the skin with its proboscis or rostrum, and
sucks vigorously for two or three minutes, and, strange to say, you
do not feel the operation, even when lying wide awake. By that time
the creature, so attenuated before, has assumed the figure, size, and
general appearance of a ripe gooseberry, so much blood has it drawn
from your veins. Immediately after it has left you the part begins to
swell up and burn as if stung by nettles. That the pain should come
after and not during the operation is an arrangement very advantageous
to the _vinchuca_, and I greatly doubt whether any other blood-sucking
parasite has been equally favoured by nature in this respect.

Imagine then my sensations when I heard the sound of not one, but two
or three pairs of wings! I tried to forget the sound and go to sleep.
I tried to forget about those rough old walls full of interstices--a
hundred years old they were, my host had informed me. Most interesting
old house, thought I; and then very suddenly a fiery itching took
possession of my great toe. There it is! said I; heated blood, late
supper, dancing, and all that. I can almost imagine that something has
actually bitten me, when of course nothing of that kind has happened.
Then, while I was furiously rubbing and scratching it, feeling a
badger-like disposition to gnaw it off, my left arm was pierced with
red-hot needles. My attentions were quickly transferred to that part;
but soon my busy hands were called elsewhere, like a couple of
hard-worked doctors in a town afflicted with an epidemic; and so all
night long, with only occasional snatches of miserable sleep, the
contest went on.

I rose early, and, going to a wide stream, a quarter of a mile from
the house, took a plunge which greatly refreshed me and gave me strength
to go in quest of my horse. Poor brute! I had intended giving him a
day's rest, so pleasant and hospitable had the people shown themselves;
but now I shuddered at the thought of spending another night in such
a purgatory. I found him so lame that he could scarcely walk, and so
returned to the house on foot and very much cast down. My host consoled
me by assuring me that I would sleep the siesta all the better for
having been molested by those "little things that go about," for in
this very mild language he described the affliction. After breakfast,
at noon, acting on his hint, I took a rug to the shade of a tree and,
lying down, quickly fell into a profound sleep, which lasted till late
in the afternoon.

That evening visitors came again, and we had a repetition of the
singing, dancing, and other pastoral amusements, till near midnight;
then, thinking to cheat my bedfellows of the night before, I made my
simple bed in the kitchen. But here also the vile _vinchucas_ found me,
and there were, moreover, dozens of fleas that waged a sort of guerilla
warfare all night, and in this way exhausted my strength and distracted
my attention, while the more formidable adversary took up his position.
My sufferings were so great that before daybreak I picked up my rugs and
went out a distance from the house to lie down on the open plain, but I
carried with me a smarting body and got but little rest. When morning
came I found that my horse had not yet recovered from his lameness.

"Do not be in a hurry to leave us," said my host, when I spoke of it.
"I perceive that the little animals have again fought with and defeated
you. Do not mind it; in time you will grow accustomed to them."

How _they_ contrived to endure it, or even to exist, was a puzzle
to me; but possibly the _vinchucas_ respected them, and only dined
when, like the giant in the nursery rhyme, they "smelt the blood of
an Englishman."

I again enjoyed a long siesta, and when night came resolved to place
myself beyond the reach of the vampires, and so, after supper, went
out to sleep on the plain. About midnight, however, a sudden storm of
wind and rain drove me back to the shelter of the house, and the next
morning I rose in such a deplorable state that I deliberately caught
and saddled my horse, though the poor beast could scarcely put one
foot on the ground. My friends laughed good-humouredly when they saw
me making these resolute preparations for departure. After partaking
of bitter _maté_, I rose and thanked them for their hospitality.

"You surely do not intend leaving us on that animal!" said my host.
"He is unfit to carry you."

"I have no other," I replied, "and am anxious to reach my destination."

"Had I known this I would have offered you a horse before," he returned,
and then he sent one of his sons to drive the horses of the
_estancia_ into the corral.

Selecting a good-looking animal from the herd, he presented it to me,
and as I did not have money enough to buy a fresh horse whenever I
wanted one, I accepted the gift very gladly. The saddle was quickly
transferred to my new acquisition, and, once more thanking these good
people and bidding adieu, I resumed my journey.

When I gave my hand before leaving to the youngest, and also, to my
mind, the prettiest of the five daughters of the house, instead of
smiling pleasantly and wishing me a prosperous journey, like the others,
she was silent, and darted a look at me, which seemed to say, "Go,
sir; you have treated me badly, and you insult me by offering your
hand; if I take it, it is not because I feel disposed to forgive you,
but only to save appearances."

At the same moment, when she bestowed that glance on me which said so
much, a look of intelligence passed over the faces of the other people
in the room. All this revealed to me that I had just missed a very
pretty little idyllic flirtation, conducted in very novel circumstances.
Love cometh up as a flower, and men and charming women naturally flirt
when brought together. Yet it was hard to imagine how I could have
started a flirtation and carried it on to its culminatory point in
that great public room, with all those eyes on me; dogs, babes, and
cats tumbling about my feet; ostriches staring covetously at my buttons
with great vacant eyes; and that intolerable paroquet perpetually
reciting "How the waters came down at Lodore," in its own shrieky,
beaky, birdy, hurdy-gurdy, parrot language. Tender glances, soft
whispered words, hand-touchings, and a thousand little personal
attentions, showing which way the emotions tend, would scarcely have
been practicable in such a place and in such conditions, and new signs
and symbols would have to be invented to express the feelings of the
heart. And doubtless these Orientals, living all together in one great
room, with their children and pets, like our very ancient ancestors,
the pastoral Aryans, do possess such a language. And this pretty
language I should have learnt from the most willing of teachers, if
those venomous _vinchucas_ had not dulled my brain with their
persecutions and made me blind to a matter which had not escaped the
observation of even unconcerned lookers-on. Riding away from the
_estancia_, the feeling I experienced at having finally escaped
from these execrable "little things that go about" was not one of
unmixed satisfaction.




CHAPTER IV


Continuing my journey through the Durazno district, I forded the pretty
River Yí and entered the Tacuarembó department, which is immensely
long, extending right away to the Brazilian frontier. I rode over its
narrowest part, however, where it is only about twenty-five miles wide;
then, crossing two very curiously named rivers, Rios Salsipuedes Chico
and Salsipuedes Grande, which mean Get-out-if-you-can Rivers, Little
and Big, I at length reached the termination of my journey in the
province or department of Paysandù. The Estancia de la Virgen de los
Desamparados, or, to put it very shortly, Vagabonds' Rest, was a
good-sized, square brick house built on very high ground, which
overlooked an immense stretch of grassy, undulating country.

There was no plantation about the house, not even a shade tree or
cultivated plant of any description, but only some large _corrales_, or
enclosures, for the cattle, of which there were six or seven thousand
head on the land. The absence of shade and greenery gave the place a
desolate, uninviting aspect, but if I was ever to have any authority here
this would soon be changed. The Mayordomo, or manager, Don Policarpo
Santierra de Peñalosa, which, roughly done into English, means Polycarp
of the Holy Land abounding in Slippery Rocks, proved to be a very
pleasant, affable person. He welcomed me with that quiet Oriental
politeness which is never cold and never effusive, and then perused the
letter from Doña Isidora. Finally he said, "I am willing, my friend, to
supply you with all the conveniences procurable at this elevation; and,
for the rest, you know, doubtless, what I can say to you. A ready
understanding requires few words. Nevertheless, there is here no lack of
good beef, and, to be short, you will do me a great favour by making this
house with everything it contains your own, while you honour us by
remaining in it."

After delivering himself of these kindly sentiments, which left me
rather in a mist as to my prospects, he mounted his horse and rode
off, probably on some very important affair, for I saw no more of him
for several days.

I at once proceeded to establish myself in the kitchen. No person inthe
house appeared ever to pay even a casual visit to any other room.
This kitchen was vast and barn-like, forty feet long at least, and
proportionately wide; the roof was of reeds, and the hearth, placed
in the centre of the floor, was a clay platform, fenced round with
cows' shank-bones, half buried and standing upright. Some trivets and
iron kettles were scattered about, and from the centre beam, supporting
the roof, a chain and hook were suspended to which a vast iron pot was
fastened. One more article, a spit about six feet long for roasting
meat, completed the list of cooking utensils. There were no chairs,
tables, knives, or forks; everyone carried his own knife, and at
meal-time the boiled meat was emptied into a great tin dish, whilst
the roast was eaten from the spit, each one laying hold with his fingers
and cutting his slice. The seats were logs of wood and horse-skulls.
The household was composed of one woman, an ancient, hideously ugly,
grey-headed negress, about seventy years old, and eighteen or nineteen
men of all ages and sizes, and of all colours from parchment-white to
very old oak. There was a _capatas,_ or overseer, and seven or eight paid
_peones,_ the others being all _agregados_--that is, supernumeraries
without pay, or, to put it plainly, vagabonds who attach themselves like
vagrant dogs to establishments of this kind, lured by the abundance of
flesh, and who occasionally assist the regular _peones_ at their work,
and also do a little gambling and stealing to keep themselves in small
change. At break of day everyone was up sitting by the hearth sipping
bitter _maté_ and smoking cigarettes; before sunrise all were mounted
and away over the surrounding country to gather up the herds; at midday
they were back again to breakfast. The consumption and waste of meat
was something frightful. Frequently, after breakfast, as much as twenty
or thirty pounds of boiled and roast meat would be thrown into a
wheelbarrow and carried out to the dust-heap, where it served to feed
scores of hawks, gulls, and vultures, besides the dogs.

Of course, I was only an _agregado_, having no salary or regular
occupation yet. Thinking, however, that this would only be for a time,
I was quite willing to make the best of things, and very soon became
fast friends with my fellow _agregados_, joining heartily in all
their amusements and voluntary labours.

In a few days I got very tired of living exclusively on flesh, for not
even a biscuit was "procurable at this elevation"; and as for a potato,
one might as well have asked for a plum-pudding. It occurred to my
mind at last that, with so many cows, it might be possible to procure
some milk and introduce a little change into our diet. In the evening
I broached the subject, proposing that on the following day we should
capture a cow and tame her. Some of the men approved of the suggestion,
remarking that they had never thought of it themselves; but the old
negress, who, being the only representative of the fair sex present,
was always listened to with all the deference due to her position,
threw herself with immense zeal into the opposition. She affirmed that
no cow had been milked at that establishment since its owner had paid
it a visit with his young wife twelve years before. A milch-cow was
then kept, and on the señora partaking of a large quantity of milk
"before breaking her fast," it produced such an indigestion in her
that they were obliged to give her powdered ostrich stomach, and finally
to convey her, with great trouble, in an ox-cart to Paysandù, and
thence by water to Montevideo. The owner ordered the cow to be released,
and never, to her certain knowledge, had cow been milked since at La
Virgen de los Desamparados.

These ominous croakings produced no effect on me, and the next day I
returned to the subject. I did not possess a lasso, and so could not
undertake to capture a half-wild cow without assistance. One of my
fellow _agregados_ at length volunteered to help me, observing
that he had not tasted milk for several years, and was inclined to
renew his acquaintance with that singular beverage. This new-found
friend in need merits being formally introduced to the reader. His
name was Epifanio Claro. He was tall and thin, and had an idiotic
expression on his long, sallow face. His cheeks were innocent of
whiskers, and his lank, black hair, parted in the middle, fell to his
shoulders, enclosing his narrow face between a pair of raven's wings.
He had very large, light-coloured, sheepish-looking eyes, and his
eyebrows bent up like a couple of Gothic arches, leaving a narrow strip
above them that formed the merest apology for a forehead. This facial
peculiarity had won for him the nickname of Cejas (Eyebrows), by which
he was known to his intimates. He spent most of his time strumming on
a wretched old cracked guitar, and singing amorous ballads in a
lugubrious, whining falsetto, which reminded me not a little of that
hungry, complaining gull I had met at the _estancia_ in Durazno.
For, though poor Epifanio had an absorbing passion for music, Nature
had unkindly withheld from him the power to express it in a manner
pleasing to others. I must, however, in justice to him, allow that he
gave a preference to ballads or compositions of a thoughtful, not to
say metaphysical, character. I took the trouble of translating the
words of one literally, and here they are:

    Yesterday my senses opened,
    At a rap-a-tap from Reason,
    Inspiring in me an intention
    Which I never had before,
    Seeing that through all my days
    My life has been just what it is.
    Therefore when I rose I said,
    To-day shall be as yesterday,
    Since Reason tells me I have been
    From day to day the self-same thing.

This is very little to judge from, being only a fourth part of the
song; but it is a fair specimen, and the rest is no clearer. Of course
it is not to be supposed that Epifanio Claro, an illiterate person,
took in the whole philosophy of these lines; still, it is probable
that a subtle ray or two of their deep meaning touched his intellect,
to make him a wiser and a sadder man.

Accompanied by this strange individual, and with the grave permission
of the _capatas_, who declined, however, in words of many syllables, all
_responsabilidad_ in the matter, we went out to the grazing grounds in
quest of a promising-looking cow. Very soon we found one to our liking.
She was followed by a small calf, not more than a week old, and her
distended udder promised a generous supply of milk; but unfortunately she
was fierce-tempered, and had horns as sharp as needles.

"We will cut them by and by," shouted Eyebrows.

He then lassoed the cow, and I captured the calf, and lifting it into
the saddle before me, started homewards. The cow followed me at a
furious pace, and behind came Claro at a swinging gallop. Possibly he
was a little too confident, and carelessly let his captive pull the
line that held her; anyhow, she turned suddenly on him, charged with
amazing fury, and sent one of her horrid horns deep into the belly of
his horse. He was, however, equal to the occasion, first dealing her
a smart blow on the nose, which made her recoil for a moment; he then
severed the lasso with his knife, and, shouting to me to drop the calf,
made his escape. We pulled up as soon as we had reached a safe distance,
Claro drily remarking that the lasso had been borrowed, and that the
horse belonged to the _estancia_, so that we had lost nothing.
He alighted, and stitched up the great gash in the poor brute's belly,
using for a thread a few hairs plucked from its tail. It was a difficult
task, or would have been so to me, as he had to bore holes in the
animal's hide with his knife-point, but it seemed quite easy to him.
Taking the remaining portion of the severed lasso, he drew it round
the hind and one of the fore feet of his horse, and threw him to the
ground with a dexterous jerk; then, binding him there, performed the
operations of sewing up the wound in about two minutes.

"Will he live?" I asked.

"How can I tell?" he answered indifferently. "I only know that now he
will be able to carry me home; if he dies afterwards, what will it
matter?"

We then mounted and rode quietly home. Of course, we were chaffed
without mercy, especially by the old negress, who had foreseen all
along, she told us, just how it would be. One would have imagined, to
hear this old black creature talk, that she looked on milk-drinking
as one of the greatest moral offences man could be guilty of, and that
in this case Providence had miraculously interposed to prevent us from
gratifying our depraved appetites.

Eyebrows took it all very coolly.

"Do not notice them," he said to me. "The lasso was not ours, the horse
was not ours, what does it matter what they say?"

The owner of the lasso, who had good-naturedly lent it to us, roused
himself on hearing this. He was a very big, rough-looking man, his
face covered with an immense shaggy black beard. I had taken him for
a good-humoured specimen of the giant kind before, but I now changed
my opinion of him when his angry passions began to rise. Blas, or
Barbudo, as we called the giant, was seated on a log sipping _maté_.

"Perhaps you take me for a sheep, sirs, because you see me wrapped in
skins," he observed; "but let me tell you this, the lasso I lent you
must be returned to me."

"These words are not for us," remarked Eyebrows, addressing me, "but
for the cow that carried away his lasso on her horns--curse them for
being so sharp!"

"No, sir," returned Barbudo, "do not deceive yourself; they are not
for the cow, but for the fool that lassoed the cow. And I promise you,
Epifanio, that if it is not restored to me, this thatch over our heads
will not be broad enough to shelter us both."

"I am pleased to hear it," said the other, "for we are short of seats;
and when you leave us, the one you now encumber with your carcass will
be occupied by some more meritorious person."

"You can say what you like, for no one has yet put a padlock on your
lips," said Barbudo, raising his voice to a shout; "but you are not
going to plunder me; and if my lasso is not restored to me, then I
swear I will make myself a new one out of a human hide."

"Then," said Eyebrows, "the sooner you provide yourself with a hide
for the purpose, the better, for I will never return the lasso to you;
for who am I to fight against Providence, that took it out of my hands?"

To this Barbudo replied furiously:

"Then I will have it from this miserable starved foreigner, who comes
here to learn to eat meat and put himself on an equality with men.
Evidently he was weaned too soon; but if the starveling hungers for
infant's food, let him in future milk the cats that warm themselves
beside the fire, and can be caught without a lasso, even by a
Frenchman!"

I could not endure the brute's insults, and sprang up from my seat.
I happened to have a large knife in my hand, for we were just preparing
to make an assault on the roasted ribs of a cow, and my first impulse
was to throw down the knife and give him a blow with my fist. Had I
attempted it I should most probably have paid dearly for my rashness.
The instant I rose Barbudo was on me, knife in hand. He aimed a furious
blow, which luckily missed me, and at the same moment I struck him,
and he reeled back with a dreadful gash on his face. It was all done
in a second of time, and before the others could interpose; in another
moment they disarmed us, and set about bathing the barbarian's wound.
During the operation, which I daresay was very painful, for the old
negress insisted on having the wound bathed with rum instead of water,
the brute blasphemed outrageously, vowing that he would cut out my
heart and eat it stewed with onions and seasoned with cummin seed and
various other condiments.

I have often since thought of that sublime culinary conception of Blas
the barbarian. There must have been a spark of wild Oriental genius
in his bovine brains.

When the exhaustion caused by rage, pain, and loss of blood had at
length reduced him to silence, the old negress turned on him, exclaiming
that he had been rightly punished, for had he not, in spite of her
timely warnings, lent his lasso to enable these two heretics (for that
is what she called us) to capture a cow? Well, his lasso was lost;
then his friends, with the gratitude only to be expected from
milk-drinkers, had turned round and well-nigh killed him.

After supper the _capatas_ got me alone, and with excessive
friendliness of manner, and an abundance of circumlocutory phrases,
advised me to leave the _estancia_, as it would not be safe for
me to remain. I replied that I was not to blame, having struck the man
in self-defence; also, that I had been sent to the _estancia_ by
a friend of the Mayordomo, and was determined to see him and give him
my version of the affair.

The _capatas_ shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette.

At length Don Policarpo returned, and when I told him my story he
laughed slightly, but said nothing. In the evening I reminded him of
the subject of the letter I had brought from Montevideo, asking him
whether it was his intention to give me some employment on the _estancia_.

"You see, my friend," he replied, "to employ you now would be useless,
however valuable your services might be, for by this time the
authorities will have information of your fight with Blas. In the
course of a few days you may expect them here to make inquiries into
that affair, and it is probable that you and Blas will both be taken
into custody."

"What then would you advise me to do?" I asked.

His answer was, that when the ostrich asked the deer what he would
advise him to do when the hunters appeared, the deer's reply was, "Run
away."

I laughed at his pretty apologue, and answered that I did not think
the authorities would trouble themselves about me--also that I was not
fond of running away.

Eyebrows, who had hitherto been rather inclined to patronise me and
take me under his protection, now became very warm in his friendship,
which was, however, dashed with an air of deference when we were alone
together, but in company he was fond of parading his familiarity with
me. I did not quite understand this change of manner at first, but by
and by he took me mysteriously aside and became extremely confidential.

"Do not distress yourself about Barbudo," he said. "He will never again
presume to lift his hand against you; and if you will only condescend
to speak kindly to him, he will be your humble slave and proud to have
you wipe your greasy fingers on his beard. Take no notice of what the
Mayordomo says, he also is afraid of you. If the authorities take you,
it will only be to see what you can give them: they will not keep you
long, for you are a foreigner, and cannot be made to serve in the army.
But when you are again at liberty it will be necessary for you to kill
someone." Very much amazed, I asked him why. "You see," he replied,
"your reputation as a fighter is now established in this department,
and there is nothing men envy more. It is the same as in our old game
of _pato,_ where the man that carries the duck away is pursued
by all the others, and before they give up chasing him he must prove
that he can keep what he has taken. There are several fighters you do
not know, who have resolved to pick quarrels with you in order to try
your strength. In your next fight you must not wound, but kill, or you
will have no peace." I was greatly disturbed at this result of my
accidental victory over Bias the Bearded, and did not at all appreciate
the kind of greatness my officious friend Claro seemed so determined
to thrust upon me. It was certainly flattering to hear that I had
already established my reputation as a good fighter in so warlike a
department as Paysandu, but then the consequences entailed were
disagreeable, to say the least of it; and so, while thanking Eyebrows
for his friendly hint, I resolved to quit the _estancia_ at once.
I would not run away from the authorities, since I was not an evil-doer,
but from the necessity of killing people for the sake of peace and
quietness I certainly would depart. And early next morning, to my
friend's intense disgust, and without telling my plans to anyone, I
mounted my horse and quitted Vagabond's Rest to pursue my adventures
elsewhere.



CHAPTER V

Faith in the _estancia_ as a field for my activities had been weak from
the first; the Mayordomo's words on his return had extinguished it
altogether; and after hearing that ostrich parable I had only remained
from motives of pride. I now determined to go back towards Montevideo,
not, however, over the route I had come by, but making a wide circuit
into the interior of the country, where I would explore a new field, and
perhaps meet with some occupation at one of the _estancias_ on the way.
Riding in a south-westerly direction towards the Rio Marlo in the
Tacuarembó department, I soon left the plains of Paysandù behind me, and,
being anxious to get well away from a neighbourhood where I was expected
to kill someone, I did not rest till I had ridden about twenty-five
miles. At noon I stopped to get some refreshment at a little roadside
_pulpería_. It was a wretched-looking place, and behind the iron bars
protecting the interior, giving it the appearance of a wild beast's cage,
lounged the storekeeper smoking a cigar. Outside the bar were two men
with English-looking faces. One was a handsome young fellow with a
somewhat worn and dissipated look on his bronzed face; he was leaning
against the counter, cigar in mouth, looking slightly tipsy, I thought,
and wore a large revolver slung ostentatiously at his waist. His
companion was a big, heavy man, with immense whiskers sprinkled with
grey, who was evidently very drunk, for he was lying full-length on a
bench, his face purple and swollen, snoring loudly. I asked for bread,
sardines, and wine, and, careful to observe the custom of the country I
was in, duly invited the tipsy young man to join in the repast. An
omission of this courtesy might, amongst proud and sensitive Orientals,
involve one in a sanguinary quarrel, and of quarrelling I had just then
had enough.

He declined with thanks, and entered into conversation with me; then
the discovery, quickly made, that we were compatriots gave us both
great pleasure. He at once offered to take me to his house with him,
and gave a glowing account of the free, jovial life he led in company
with several other Englishmen--sons of gentlemen, every one of them,
he assured me--who had bought a piece of land and settled down to
sheep-farming in this lonely district. I gladly accepted the invitation,
and when we had finished our glasses he proceeded to wake the sleeper.

"Hullo, I say, Cap, wake up, old boy," shouted my new friend. "Quite
time to go home, don't you know. That's right--up you come. Now let
me introduce you to Mr. Lamb. I'm sure he's an acquisition. What, off
again! Damn it, old Cloud, that's unreasonable, to say the least of
it."

At length, after a great deal of shouting and shaking, he succeeded
in rousing his drunken companion, who staggered up and stared at me
in an imbecile manner.

"Now let me introduce you," said the other. "Mr. Lamb. My friend,
Captain Cloudesley Wriothesley. Bravo! Steady, old cock--now shake
hands."

The Captain said nothing, but took my hand, swaying forwards as if
about to embrace me. We then with considerable difficulty got him on
to his saddle and rode off together, keeping him between us to prevent
him from falling off. Half an hour's ride brought us to my host Mr.
Vincent Winchcombe's house. I had pictured to myself a charming little
homestead, buried in cool greenery and flowers, and filled with pleasant
memories of dear old England; I was, therefore, grievously disappointed
to find that his "home" was only a mean-looking _rancho,_ with a ditch
round it, protecting some ploughed or dug-up ground, on which not one
green thing appeared. Mr. Winchcombe explained, however, that he had not
yet had time to cultivate much. "Only vegetables and such things, don't
you know," he said.

"I don't see them," I returned.

"Well, no; we had a lot of caterpillars and blister beetles and things,
and they ate everything up, don't you know," said he.

The room into which he conducted me contained no furniture except a
large deal table and some chairs; also a cupboard, a long mantelpiece,
and some shelves against the walls. On every available place were
pipes, pouches, revolvers, cartridge-boxes, and empty bottles. On the
table were tumblers, cups, a sugar-basin, a monstrous tin teapot, and
a demijohn, which I soon ascertained was half-full of Brazilian rum,
or caña. Round the table five men were seated smoking, drinking tea
and rum, and talking excitedly, all of them more or less intoxicated.
They gave me a hearty welcome, making me join them at the table, pouring
out tea and rum for me, and generously pushing pipes and pouches towards
me.

"You see," said Mr. Winchcombe, in explanation of this convivial scene,
"there are, altogether, ten of us settlers here going in for
sheep-farming and that sort of thing. Four of us have already built
houses and bought sheep and horses. The other six fellows live with
us from house to house, don't you know. Well, we've made a jolly
arrangement--old Cloud--Captain Cloud, don't you know, first suggested
it--and it is that every day one of the four--the Glorious Four we are
called--keeps open house; and it's considered the right thing for the
other nine fellows to drop in on him some time during the day, just
to cheer him up a bit. Well, we soon made the discovery--old Cloud,
I fancy, made it--that tea and rum were about the best things to have
on these occasions. To-day it was my day, and to-morrow it will be
some other fellow's, don't you know. And, by Jove, how lucky I was to
meet you at the _pulperia!_ It will be ever so much jollier now."

I had certainly not stumbled upon a charming little English paradise
in this Oriental wilderness, and as it always makes me uncomfortable
to see young men drifting into intemperate habits and making asses of
themselves generally, I was not rapturously delighted with "old Cloud's"
system. Still, I was glad to find myself with Englishmen in this distant
country, and in the end I succeeded in making myself tolerably happy.
The discovery that I had a voice pleased them greatly, and when,
somewhat excited from the effects of strong cavendish, rum, and black
tea, I roared out:

    And may his soul in heaven dwell
    Who first found out the leather botél,

they all got up and drank my health in big tumblers, and declared they
would never let me leave the colony.

Before evening the guests departed, all except the Captain. He had sat
with us at the table, but was too far gone in his cups to take part
in the boisterous fun and conversation. Once in about every five minutes
he had implored someone in a husky voice to give him a light for his
pipe, then, after two or three ineffectual puffs, he would let it go
out again. He had also attempted two or three times to join in the
chorus of a song, but soon relapsed again into his imbecile condition.

Next day, however, when he sat down refreshed by a night's sleep to
breakfast, I found him a very agreeable fellow. He had no house of his
own yet, not having received his money from home, he confidentially
informed me, but lived about, breakfasting in one house, dining in a
second, and sleeping in a third. "Never mind," he would say, "by and
by it will be my turn; then I will receive you all every day for six
weeks to make it all square."

None of the colonists did any work, but all spent their time lounging
about and visiting each other, trying to make their dull existence
endurable by perpetual smoking and tea and rum drinking. They had
tried, they told me, ostrich-hunting, visiting their native neighbours,
partridge-shooting, horse-racing, etc.; but the partridges were too
tame for them, they could never catch the ostriches, the natives didn't
understand them, and they had finally given up all these so-called
amusements. In each house a peon was kept to take care of the flock
and to cook, and as the sheep appeared to take care of themselves, and
the cooking merely meant roasting a piece of meat on a spit, there was
very little for the hired men to do.

"Why don't you do these things for yourselves?" I innocently asked.

"I fancy it wouldn't quite be the right thing, don't you know," said
Mr. Winchcombe.

"No," said the Captain gravely, "we haven't quite come down to that
yet."

I was greatly surprised to hear them. I had seen Englishmen sensibly
roughing it in other places, but the lofty pride of these ten
rum-drinking gentlemen was quite a new experience to me.

Having spent a somewhat listless morning, I was invited to accompany
them to the house of Mr. Bingley, one of the Glorious Four. Mr. Bingley
was really a very nice young fellow, living in a house far more worthy
of the name than the slovenly _rancho_ tenanted by his neighbour
Winchcombe. He was the favourite of the colonists, having more money
than the others, and keeping two servants. Always on his reception-day
he provided his guests with hot bread and fresh butter, as well as
with the indispensable rum-bottle and teapot. It therefore happened
that, when his turn came round to keep open house, not one of the other
nine colonists was absent from his table.

Soon after our arrival at Bingley's the others began to appear, each
one on entering taking a seat at the hospitable board, and adding
another cloud to the dense volume of tobacco smoke obscuring the room.
There was a great deal of hilarious conversation; songs were sung, and
a vast amount of tea, rum, bread and butter, and tobacco consumed; but
it was a wearisome entertainment, and by the time it was over I felt
heartily sick of this kind of life.

Before separating, after "John Peel" had been sung with great
enthusiasm, someone proposed that we should get up a fox-hunt in real
English style. Everyone agreed, glad of anything, I suppose, to break
the monotony of such an existence, and next day we rode out, followed
by about twenty dogs, of various breeds and sizes, brought together
from all the houses. After some searching about in the most likely
places, we at length started a fox from a bed of dark-leafed
_mio-mio_ bushes. He made straight away for a range of hills about
three miles distant, and over a beautifully smooth plain, so that we
had a very good prospect of running him down. Two of the hunters had
provided themselves with horns, which they blew incessantly, while the
others all shouted at the top of their lungs, so that our chase was
a very noisy one. The fox appeared to understand his danger and to
know that his only chance of escape lay in keeping up his strength
till the refuge of the hills was reached. Suddenly, however, he changed
his course, this giving us a great advantage, for by making a short
cut we were all soon close at his heels, with only the wide level plain
before us. But reynard had his reasons for what he did; he had spied
a herd of cattle, and in a very few moments had overtaken and mixed
with them. The herd, struck with terror at our shouts and horn-blowing,
instantly scattered and flew in all directions, so that we were able
still to keep our quarry in sight. Far in advance of us the panic in
the cattle ran on from herd to herd, swift as light, and we could see
them miles away fleeing from us, while their hoarse bellowings and
thundering tread came borne by the wind faintly to our ears. Our fat
lazy dogs ran no faster than our horses, but still they laboured on,
cheered by incessant shouts, and at last ran into the first fox ever
properly hunted in the Banda Orientál.

The chase, which had led us far from home, ended close to a large
_estancia_ house, and while we stood watching the dogs worrying their
victim to death, the _capatas_ of the establishment, accompanied by three
men, rode out to inquire who we were, and what we were doing. He was a
small dark native, wearing a very picturesque costume, and addressed us
with extreme politeness.

"Will you tell me, señores, what strange animal you have captured?"
he asked.

"A fox," shouted Mr. Bingley, triumphantly waving the brush, which he
had just cut off, over his head. "In our country--in England--we hunt
the fox with dogs, and we have been hunting after the manner of our
country."

The _capatas_ smiled, and replied that, if we were disposed to join him,
it would afford him great pleasure to show us a hunt after the manner of
the Banda Orientál.

We consented gladly, and, mounting our horses, set off at a swinging
gallop after the _capatas_ and his men. We soon came to a small herd of
cattle; the _capatas_ dashed after them, and, unloosening the coils of
his lasso, flung the noose dexterously over the horns of a fat heifer he
had singled out, then started homewards at a tremendous pace. The cow,
urged forward by the men, who rode close behind, and pricked it with
their knives, rushed on, bellowing with rage and pain, trying to overtake
the _capatas_, who kept just out of reach of its horns; and in this way
we quickly reached the house. One of the men now flung his lasso and
caught the beast's hind leg; pulled in two opposite directions, it
quickly came to a standstill; the other men, now dismounting, first
ham-strung, then ran a long knife into its throat. Without removing the
hide, the carcass was immediately cut up, and the choice pieces flung on
to a great fire of wood, which one of the men had been making. In an
hour's time we all sat down to a feast of _carne con cuero_, or meat
roasted in the hide, juicy, tender, and exquisitely flavoured. I must
tell the English reader who is accustomed to eat meat and game which has
been kept till it is tender, that before the tender stage is reached it
has been permitted to get tough. Meat, game included, is never so tender
or deliciously flavoured as when cooked and eaten immediately after it is
killed. Compared with meat at any subsequent stage, it is like a new-laid
egg or a salmon with the cream on, compared with an egg or a salmon after
a week's keeping.

We enjoyed the repast immensely, though Captain Cloud bitterly lamented
that we had neither rum nor tea to wash it down. When we had thanked
our entertainer and were about to turn our horses' heads homewards,
the polite _capatas_ once more stepped out and addressed us.

"Gentlemen," he said, "whenever you feel disposed to hunt, come to me
and we will lasso and roast a heifer in the hide. It is the best dish
the republic has to offer the stranger, and it will give me great
pleasure to entertain you; but I beg you will hunt no more foxes over
the ground belonging to this _estancia,_ for you have caused so
great a commotion amongst the cattle I am placed here in charge of,
that it will take my men two or three days to find them all and bring
them back again."

We gave the desired promise, plainly perceiving that fox-hunting in
the English fashion is not a sport adapted to the Oriental country.
Then we rode back, and spent the remaining hours at the house of Mr.
Girling, of the Glorious Four, drinking rum and tea, smoking unlimited
pipes of cavendish, and talking over our hunting experience.




CHAPTER VI


I spent several days at the colony; and I suppose the life I led there
had a demoralising effect on me, for, unpleasant as it was, every day
I felt less inclined to break loose from it, and sometimes I even
thought seriously of settling down there myself. This crazy idea,
however, would usually come to me late in the day, after a great deal
of indulgence in rum and tea, a mixture that would very soon drive any
man mad.

One afternoon, at one of our convivial meetings, it was resolved to
pay a visit to the little town of Tolosa, about eighteen miles to the
east of the colony. Next day we set out, every man wearing a revolver
slung at his waist, and provided with a heavy _poncho_ for
covering; for it was the custom of the colonists to spend the night
at Tolosa when they visited it. We put up at a large public-house in
the centre of the miserable little town, where there was accommodation
for man and beast, the last always faring rather better than the first.
I very soon discovered that the chief object of our visit was to vary
the entertainment of drinking rum and smoking at the "Colony," by
drinking rum and smoking at Tolosa. The bibulous battle raged till
bedtime, when the only sober member of our party was myself; for I had
spent the greater part of the afternoon walking about talking to the
townspeople, in the hope of picking up some information useful to me
in my search for occupation. But the women and old men I met gave me
little encouragement. They seemed to be a rather listless set in Tolosa,
and when I asked them what they were doing to make a livelihood, they
said they were _waiting._ My fellow-countrymen and their visit
to the town was the principal topic of conversation. They regarded
their English neighbours as strange and dangerous creatures, who took
no solid food, but subsisted on a mixture of rum and gunpowder (which
was the truth), and who were armed with deadly engines called revolvers,
invented specially for them by their father the devil. The day's
experience convinced me that the English colony had some excuse forits
existence, since its periodical visits gave the good people of
Tolosa a little wholesome excitement during the stagnant intervals
between the revolutions.

At night we all turned into a large room with a clay floor, in which
there was not a single article of furniture. Our saddles, rugs, and
_ponchos_ had all been thrown together in a corner, and anyone wishing
to sleep had to make himself a bed with his own horse-gear and toggery
as best he could. The experience was nothing new to me, so I soon made
myself a comfortable nest on the floor, and, pulling off my boots,
coiled myself up like an opossum that knows nothing better and is
friendly with fleas. My friends, however, were evidently bent on making
a night of it, and had taken care to provide themselves with three or
four bottles of rum. After conversation, with an occasional song, had
been going on for some time, one of them--a Mr. Chillingworth--rose
to his feet and demanded silence.

"Gentlemen," he said, advancing into the middle of the room, where,
by occasionally throwing out his arms to balance himself, he managed
to maintain a tolerably erect position, "I am going to make a
what-d'ye-call-it."

Furious cheers greeted this announcement, while one of the hearers,
carried away with enthusiasm at the prospect of listening to his
friend's eloquence, discharged his revolver at the roof, scattering
confusion amongst a legion of long-legged spiders that occupied the
dusty cobwebs above our heads.

I was afraid the whole town would be up in arms at our carryings on,
but they assured me that they all fired off their revolvers in that
room and that nobody came near them, as they were so well known in the
town.

"Gentlemen," continued Mr. Chillingworth, when order had been at length
restored, "I've been thinking, that's what I've been doing. Now let's
review the situation. Here we stand, a colony of English gentlemen:
here we are, don't you know, far from our homes and country and all
that sort of thing. What says the poet? I daresay some of you fellows
remember the passage. But what for, I ask! What, gentlemen, is the
object of our being here? That's just what I'm going to tell you, don't
you know. We are here, gentlemen, to infuse a little of our Anglo-Saxon
energy, and all that sort of thing, into this dilapidated old tin-pot
of a nation."

Here the orator was encouraged by a burst of applause.

"Now, gentlemen," he continued, "isn't it hard--devilish hard, don't
you know, that so little is made of us? I feel it--I feel it, gentlemen;
our lives are being frittered away. I don't know whether you fellows
feel it. You see, we ain't a melancholy lot. We're a glorious
combination against the blue devils, that's what we are. Only sometimes
I feel, don't you know, that all the rum in the place can't quite kill
them. I can't help thinking of jolly days on the other side of the
water. Now, don't you fellows look at me as if you thought I was going
to blubber. I'm not going to make such a confounded ass of myself,
don't you know. But what I want you fellows to tell me is this: Are
we to go on all our lives making beasts of ourselves, guzzling rum--I--I
beg your pardon, gentlemen. I didn't mean to say that, really. Rum is
about the only decent thing in this place. Rum keeps us alive. If any
man says a word against rum, I'll call him an infernal ass. I meant
to say the country, gentlemen--this rotten old country, don't you know.
No cricket, no society, no Bass, no anything. Supposing we had gone
to Canada with our--our capital and energies, wouldn't they have
received us with open arms? And what's the reception we get here? Now,
gentlemen, what I propose is this: let's protest. Let's get up a
what-d'you-call-it to the thing they call a government. We'll state
our case to the thing, gentlemen; and we'll insist on it and be very
firm; that's what we'll do, don't you know. Are we to live amongst
these miserable monkeys and give them the benefit of our--our--yes,
gentlemen, our capital and energies, and get nothing in return? No,
no; we must let them know that we are not satisfied, that we will be
very angry with them. That's about all I have to say, gentlemen."

Loud applause followed, during which the orator sat down rather suddenly
on the floor. Then followed "Rule Britannia," everyone assisting with
all the breath in his lungs to make night hideous.

When the song was finished the loud snoring of Captain Wriothesley
became audible. He had begun to spread some rugs to lie on, but,
becoming hopelessly entangled in his bridle-reins, surcingle, and
stirrup-straps, had fallen to sleep with his feet on his saddle and
his head on the floor.

"Hallo, we can't have this!" shouted one of the fellows. "Let's wake
old Cloud by firing at the wall over him and knocking some plaster on
to his head. It'll be awful fun, you know."

Everybody was delighted with the proposal, except poor Chillingworth,
who, after delivering his speech, had crept away on all fours into a
corner, where he was sitting alone and looking very pale and miserable.

The firing now began, most of the bullets hitting the wall only a few
inches above the recumbent Captain's head, scattering dust and bits
of plaster over his purple face. I jumped up in alarm and rushed amongst
them, telling them in my haste that they were too drunk to hold their
revolvers properly, and would kill their friend.

My interference raised a loud, angry remonstrance, in the midst of
which the Captain, who was lying in a most uncomfortable position,
woke, and, struggling into a sitting posture, stared vacantly at us,
his reins and straps wound like serpents about his neck and arms.

"What's all the row 'bout?" he demanded huskily. "Getting up rev'lution,
I s'pose. A'right; only thing to do in this country. Only don't ask
me to be pres'dent. Nor good enough. Goo' night, boys; don't cut my
throat by mistake. Gor bless you all."

"No, no, don't go to sleep, Cloud," they shouted. "Lamb's the cause
of all this. He says we're drunk--that's the way Lamb repays our
hospitality. We were firing to wake you up, old Cap, to have a drink--"

"A drink--yes," assented the Captain hoarsely.

"And Lamb was afraid we would injure you. Tell him, old Cloud, whether
you're afraid of your friends. Tell Lamb what you think of his conduct."

"Yes, I'll tell him," returned the Captain in his thick tones. "Lamb
shan't interfere, gentlemen. But you know you took him in, didn't you,
now? And what was my opinion of him? It wasn't right of you fellows,
was it, now? He couldn't be one of us, you know, could he now? I'll
leave it to you, gentlemen; didn't I say the fellow was a cad? Why the
devil doesn't he leave me alone then? I'll tell you what I'll do with
Lamb, I'll punch his damned nose, don't you know."

And here the gallant gentleman attempted to rise, but his legs refused
to assist him, and, tumbling back against the wall, he was only able
to glare at me out of his watery eyes.

I went up to him, intending, I suppose, to punch _his_ nose, but,
suddenly changing my mind, I merely picked up my saddle and things,
then left the room with a hearty curse on Captain Cloudesley
Wriothesley, the evil genius, drunk or sober, of the colony of English
gentlemen. I was no sooner outside the door than the joy they felt at
being rid of me was expressed in loud shouts, clapping of hands, and
a general discharge of firearms into the roof.

I spread my rugs out of doors and soliloquised myself to sleep. "And
so ends," said I, fixing my somewhat drowsy eyes on the constellation
of Orion, "adventure the second, or twenty-second--little does it
matter about the exact number of them, since they all alike end in
smoke--revolver smoke--or a flourish of knives and the shaking of dust
from off my feet. And, perhaps, at this very moment Paquíta, roused
from light slumbers by the droning cry of the night-watchman under her
window, puts out her arms to feel me, and sighs to find my place still
vacant. What must I say to her? That I must change my name to Ernandes
or Fernandes, or Blas or Chas, or Sandariaga, Gorostiaga, Madariaga,
or any other 'aga,' and conspire to overthrow the existing order of
things. There is nothing else for me to do, since this Oriental world
is indeed an oyster only a sharp sword will serve to open. As for arms
and armies and military training, all that is quite unnecessary. One
has only got to bring together a few ragged, dissatisfied men, and,
taking horse, charge pell-mell into poor Mr. Chillingworth's dilapidated
old tin-pot. I almost feel like that unhappy gentleman to-night, ready
to blubber. But, after all, my position is not quite so hopeless as
his; I have no brutalised, purple-nosed Briton sitting like a nightmare
on my chest, pressing the life out of me."

The shouts and choruses of the revellers grew fainter and fewer, and
had almost ceased when I sank to sleep, lulled by a solitary tipsy
voice droning out in a lugubrious key:

  We won't go--home till morning.




CHAPTER VII


Early next morning I left Tolosa and travelled the whole day in a
south-westerly direction. I did not hurry, but frequently dismounted
to give my horse a sip of clear water and a taste of green herbage.
I also called during the day at three or four _estancia_ houses,
but failed to hear anything that could be advantageous to me. In this
way I covered about thirty-five miles of road, going always towards
the eastern part of the Florida district in the heart of the country.
About an hour before sunset I resolved to go no farther that day; and
I could not have hoped to find a nicer resting-place than the one now
before me--a neat _rancho_ with a wide corridor supported by
wooden pillars, standing amidst a bower of fine old weeping-willows.
It was a calm, sunshiny afternoon, peace and quiet resting on
everything, even bird and insect, for they were silent, or uttered
only soft, subdued notes; and that modest lodge, with its rough stone
walls and thatched roof, seemed to be in harmony with it all. It looked
like the home of simple-minded, pastoral people that had for their
only world the grassy wilderness, watered by many clear streams, bounded
ever by that far-off, unbroken ring of the horizon, and arched over
with blue heaven, starry by night and filled by day with sweet sunshine.

On approaching the house I was agreeably disappointed at having no
pack of loud-mouthed, ferocious dogs rushing forth to rend the
presumptuous stranger to pieces, a thing one always expects. The only
signs of life visible were a white-haired old man seated within the
corridor smoking, and a few yards from it a young girl standing under
a willow-tree. But that girl was a picture for one to gaze long upon
and carry about in his memory for a lifetime. Never had I beheld
anything so exquisitely beautiful. It was not that kind of beauty so
common in these countries, which bursts upon you like the sudden
south-west wind called _pampero_, almost knocking the breath out
of your body, then passing as suddenly away, leaving you with hair
ruffled up and mouth full of dust. Its influence was more like that
of the spring wind, which blows softly, scarcely fanning your cheek,
yet infusing through all your system a delicious, magical sensation
like--like nothing else in earth or heaven. She was, I fancy, about
fourteen years old, slender and graceful in figure, and with a
marvellously clear white skin, on which this bright Oriental sun had
not painted one freckle. Her features were, I think, the most perfect
I have ever seen in any human being, and her golden brown hair hung
in two heavy braids behind, almost to her knees. As I approached, she
looked up to me out of sweet, grey-blue eyes; there was a bashful smile
on her lips, but she did not move or speak. On the willow-branch over
her head were two young doves; they were, it appeared, her pets, unable
yet to fly, and she had placed them there. The little things had crept
up just beyond her reach, and she was trying to get them by pulling
the branch down towards her.

Leaving my horse, I came to her side.

"I am tall, señorita," I said, "and can perhaps reach them."

She watched me with anxious interest while I gently pulled her birds
from their perch and transferred them to her hands. Then she kissed
them, well-pleased, and with a gentle hesitation in her manner asked
me in.

Under the corridor I made the acquaintance of her grandfather, the
white-haired old man, and found him a person it was very easy to get
on with, for he agreed readily with everything I said. Indeed, even
before I could get a remark out he began eagerly assenting to it.
There, too, I met the girl's mother, who was not at all like her
beautiful daughter, but had black hair and eyes, and a brown skin, as
most Spanish-American women have. Evidently the father is the
white-skinned, golden-haired one, I thought. When the girl's brother
came in, by and by, he unsaddled my horse and led him away to pasture;
this boy was also dark, darker even than his mother.

The simple spontaneous kindness with which these people treated me had
a flavour about it the like of which I have seldom experienced
elsewhere. It was not the common hospitality usually shown to a
stranger, but a natural, unstrained kindness, such as they might be
expected to show to a beloved brother or son who had gone out from
them in the morning and was now returned.

By and by the girl's father came in, and I was extremely surprised to
find him a small, wrinkled, dark specimen, with jet-black, bead-like
eyes and podgy nose, showing plainly enough that he had more than a
dash of aboriginal Charrua blood in his veins. This upset my theory
about the girl's fair skin and blue eyes; the little dark man was,
however, quite as sweet-tempered as the others, for he came in, sat
down, and joined in the conversation, just as if I had been one of the
family whom he had expected to find there. While I talked to these
good people on simple pastoral matters, all the wickedness of
Orientals--the throat-cutting war of Whites and Reds, and the
unspeakable cruelties of the ten years' siege--were quite forgotten.
I wished that I had been born amongst them and was one of them, not
a weary, wandering Englishman, overburdened with the arms and armour
of civilisation, and staggering along, like Atlas, with the weight of
a kingdom on which the sun never sets on his shoulders.

By and by this good man, whose real name I never discovered, for his
wife simply called him Batata (sweet potato), looking critically at
his pretty girl, remarked: "Why have you decked yourself out like this,
my daughter--it is not a Saint's day?"

His daughter indeed! I mentally ejaculated; she is more like the
daughter of the evening star than of such a man. But his words were
unreasonable, to say the least of it; for the sweet child, whose name
was Margarita, though wearing shoes, had no stockings on, while her
dress--very clean, certainly--was a cotton print so faded that the
pattern was quite undistinguishable. The only pretence of finery of
any description was a narrow bit of blue ribbon tied about her
lily-white neck. And yet, had she been wearing richest silks and
costliest gems, she could not have blushed and smiled with a prettier
confusion.

"We are expecting Uncle Anselmo this evening, _papita_," she replied.

"Leave the child, Batata," said the mother. "You know what a craze she
has for Anselmo: when he comes she is always prepared to receive him
like a queen."

This was really almost too much for me, and I was powerfully tempted
to jump up and embrace the whole family on the spot. How sweet was
this primitive simplicity of mind! Here, doubtless, was the one spot
on the wide earth where the golden age still lingered, appearing like
the last beams of the setting sun touching some prominent spot, when
elsewhere all things are in shadow. Ah, why had fate led me into this
sweet Arcadia, since I must presently leave it to go back to the dull
world of toil and strife.

    That vain low strife
    Which makes men mad, the tug for wealth and power,
    The passions and the cares that wither life
    And waste its little hour?

Had it not been for the thought of Paquíta waiting for me over there
in Montevideo, I could have said, "O good friend Sweet Potato, and good
friends all, let me remain for ever with you under this roof,
sharing your simple pleasures, and, wishing for nothing better, forget
that great crowded world where all men are striving to conquer Nature
and death and to win fortune; until, having wasted their miserable
lives in their vain endeavours, they drop down and the earth is
shovelled over them!"

Shortly after sunset the expected Anselmo arrived to spend the night
with his relations, and scarcely had he got down from his horse before
Margarita was at his side to ask the avuncular blessing, at the same
time raising his hand to her delicate lips. He gave his blessing,
touching her golden hair; then she lifted her face bright with new
happiness.

Anselmo was a fine specimen of the Oriental gaucho, dark and with good
features, his hair and moustache intensely black. He wore costly
clothes, while his whip-handle, the sheath of his long knife, and other
things about him were of massive silver. Of silver also were his heavy
spurs, the pommel of his saddle, his stirrups, and the headstall of
his bridle. He was a great talker; never, in fact, in the whole course
of my varied experience have I encountered anyone who could pour out
such an incessant stream of talk about small matters as this man. We
all sat together in the social kitchen, sipping _maté_; I taking
little part in the conversation, which was all about horses, scarcely
even listening to what the others were saying. Reclining against the
wall, I occupied myself agreeably watching the sweet face of Margarita,
which in her happy excitement had become suffused with a delicate rosy
colour. I have always had a great love for the beautiful: sunsets,
wild flowers, especially verbenas, so prettily called margaritas in
this country; and beyond everything the rainbow spanning the vast
gloomy heavens, with its green and violet arch, when the storm-cloud
passes eastward over the wet sun-flushed earth. All these things have
a singular fascination for my soul. But beauty when it presents itself
in the human form is even more than these things. There is in it a
magnetic power drawing my heart; a something that is not love, for how
can a married man have a feeling like that towards anyone except his
wife? No, it is not love, but a sacred ethereal kind of affection,
resembling love only as the fragrance of violets resembles the taste
of honey and the honey-comb.

At length, some time after supper, Margarita, to my sorrow, rose to
retire, though not without first once more asking her uncle's blessing.
After her departure from the kitchen, finding that the inexhaustible
talking-machine Anselmo was still holding forth fresh as ever, I lit
a cigar and prepared to listen.




CHAPTER VIII


When I began to listen, it was a surprise to find that the subject of
conversation was no longer the favourite one of horse-flesh, which had
held undisputed sway the whole evening. Uncle Anselmo was just now
expatiating on the merits of gin, a beverage for which he confessed
to a special liking.

"Gin is, without doubt," said he, "the flower of all strong drinks.
I have always maintained that it is incomparable. And for this reason
I always keep a little of it in the house in a stone bottle; for, when
I have taken my _maté_ in the morning, and, after it, one or two
or three or four sips of gin, I saddle my horse and go out with a
tranquil stomach, feeling at peace with the whole world.

"Well, sirs, it happened that on the morning in question, I noticed
that there was very little gin left in the bottle; for, though I could
not see how much it contained, owing to its being of stone and not of
glass, I judged from the manner in which I had to tip it upwards when
pouring it out. In order to remember that I had to bring home some
with me that day I tied a knot in my handkerchief; then, mounting my
horse, I rode out towards the side on which the sun sets, little
expecting that anything unusual was going to happen to me that day.
But thus it often is; for no man, however learned he may be and able
to read the almanac, can tell what a day will bring forth."

Anselmo was so outrageously prosy, I felt strongly inclined to go to
bed to dream of beautiful Margarita; but politeness forbade, and I was
also somewhat curious to hear what extraordinary thing had happened
to him on that very eventful day.

"It fortunately happened," continued Anselmo, "that I had that morning
saddled the best of my cream-noses; for on that horse I could say
without fear of contradiction, I am on horseback and not on foot. I
called him Chingolo, a name which Manuel, also called the Fox, gave
him, because he was a young horse of promise, able to fly with his
rider. Manuel had nine horses--cream-noses every one--and how from
being Manuel's they came to be mine I will tell you. He, poor man, had
just lost all his money at cards--perhaps the money he lost was not
much, but how he came to have any was a mystery to many. To me, however,
it was no mystery, and when my cattle were slaughtered and had their
hides stripped off by night, perhaps I could have gone to
Justice--feeling like a blind man for something in the wrong place--and
led her in the direction of the offender's house; but when one has it
in his power to speak, knowing at the same time that his words will
fall like a thunderbolt out of a blue sky upon a neighbour's dwelling,
consuming it to ashes and killing all within it, why, sirs, in such
a case the good Christian prefers to hold his peace. For what has one
man more than another that he should put himself in the place of
Providence? We are all of flesh. True, some of us are only dog's flesh,
fit for nothing; but to all of us the lash is painful, and where it
rains blood will sprout. This, I say; but, remember, I say not that
Manuel the Fox robbed me--for I would sully no man's reputation, even
a robber's, or have anyone suffer on my account.

"Well, sirs, to go back to what I was saying, Manuel lost everything;
then his wife fell ill with fever; and what was there left for him but
to turn his horses into money? In this way it came about that I bought
the cream-noses and paid him fifty dollars for them. True, the horses
were young and sound; nevertheless, it was a great price, and I paid
it not without first weighing the matter well in my own mind. For in
things of this nature if a person makes not his reckoning beforehand,
where, let me ask, sirs, will he find himself at the year's end? The
devil will take him with all the cattle he inherited from his fathers,
or got together by his own proper abilities and industry.

"For you see the thing is this. I have a poor head for figures; all
other kinds of knowledge come easy to me, but how to calculate readily
has never yet found an entrance into my head. At the same time, whenever
I find it impossible to make out my accounts, or settle what to do,
I have only to take the matter to bed with me and lie awake thinking
it over. For when I do that, I rise next morning feeling free and
refreshed, like a man that has just eaten a water-melon; for what I
have to do and how it is to be done is all as plain to my sight as
this _maté_-cup I hold in my hand.

"In this difficulty I therefore resolved to take the subject of the
horses to bed with me, and to say, 'Here I have you and you shall not
escape from me.' But about supper-time Manuel came in to molest me,
and sat in the kitchen with a sad face, like a prisoner under sentence
of death.

"'If Providence is angry against the entire human race,' said he, 'and
is anxious to make an example, I know not for what reason so harmless
and obscure a person as I am should have been selected.'

"'What would you have, Manuel?' I replied. 'Wise men tell us that
Providence sends us misfortunes for our good.'

"'True, I agree with you,' he said. 'It is not for me to doubt it, for
what can be said of that soldier who finds fault with the measures of
his commander? But you know, Anselmo, the man I am, and it is bitter
that these troubles should fall on one who has never offended except
in being always poor.'

"The vulture,' said I, 'ever preys on the weak and ailing.'

"'First I lose everything,' he continued, 'then this woman must fall
ill of a calenture; and now I am forced to believe that even my credit
is gone, since I cannot borrow the money I require. Those who knew me
best have suddenly become strangers.'

"'When a man is down,' said I, 'the very dogs will scratch up the dust
against him.'

"'True,' said Manuel; 'and since these calamities fell on me, what has
become of the friendships that were so many? For nothing has a worse
smell, or stinks more, than poverty, so that all men when they behold
it cover up their faces or fly from such a pestilence.'

"'You speak the truth, Manuel,' I returned; 'but say not all men, for
who knows--there being so many souls in the world--whether you may not
be doing injustice to someone.'

"'I say it not of you,' he replied, 'On the contrary, if any person
has had compassion on me it is you; and this I say, not in your presence
only, but publicly proclaim it to all men.'

"Words only were these. 'And now,' he continued 'my cards oblige me
to part with my horses for money; therefore I come this evening to
learn your decision.'

"'Manuel,' said I, 'I am a man of few words, as you know, and
straightforward, therefore you need not have used compliments, and
before saying this to have said so many things; for in this you do not
treat me as a friend.'

"'You say well,' he replied; 'but I love not to dismount before checking
my horse and taking my toes from the stirrups.'

"'That is only as it should be,' said I; 'nevertheless, when you come
to a friend's house, you need not alight at such a distance from the
gate.'

"'For what you say, I thank you,' he answered. 'My faults are more
numerous than the spots on the wild cat, but not amongst them is
precipitancy.'

"'That is what I like,' said I; 'for I do not love to go about like
a drunk man embracing strangers. But our acquaintance is not of
yesterday, for we have looked into and know each other, even to the
bowels and to the marrow in the bones. Why, then, should we meet as
strangers, since we have never had a difference, or any occasion to
speak ill of each other?'

"'And how should we speak ill,' replied Manuel, 'since it has never
entered into either of us, even in a dream, to do the other an injury?
Some there are, who, loving me badly, would blow up your head like a
bladder with lies if they could, laying I know not what things to my
charge, when--heaven knows--they themselves are perhaps the authors
of all they so readily blame me for.'

"'If you speak,' said I, 'of the cattle I have lost, trouble not
yourself about such trifles; for if those who speak evil of you, only
because they themselves are evil, were listening, they might say, This
man begins to defend himself when no one has so much as thought of
drawing against him.'

"'True, there is nothing they will not say of me,' said Manuel;
'therefore I am dumb, for nothing is to be gained by speaking. They
have already judged me, and no man wishes to be made a liar.'

"'As for me,' I said, 'I never doubted you, knowing you to be a man,
honest, sober, and diligent. If in anything you had given offence I
should have told you of it, so great is my frankness towards all men.'

"'All that you tell me I firmly believe,' said he, 'for I know that
you are not one that wears a mask like others. Therefore, relying on
your great openness in all things, I come to you about these horses;
for I love not dealing with those who shake you out a whole bushel of
chaff for every grain of corn.'

"'But, Manuel,' said I, 'you know that I am not made of gold, and that
the mines of Peru were not left to me for an inheritance. You ask a
high price for your horses.'

"'I do not deny it,' he replied. 'But you are not one to stop your
ears against reason and poverty when they speak. My horses are my only
wealth and happiness, and I have no glory but them.'

"'Frankly, then,' I answered, 'to-morrow I will tell you yes or no.'

"'Let it be as you say; but, friend, if you will close with me tonight
I will abate something from the price.'

"'If you wish to abate anything,' said I, 'let it be to-morrow, for
I have accounts to make up to-night and a thousand things to think of.'

"After that Manuel got on to his horse and rode away. It was black and
rainy, but he had never needed moon or lantern to find what he sought
by night, whether his own house, or a fat cow--also his own, perhaps.

"Then I went to bed. The first question I asked myself, when I had
blown out the candle, was, Are there fat wethers enough in my flock
to pay for the cream-noses? Then I asked, How many fat wethers will
it take at the price Don Sebastian--a miserly cheat be it said in
passing--offers me a head for them to make up the amount I require?

"That was the question; but, you see, friends, I could not answer it.
At length, about midnight, I resolved to light the candle and get an
ear of maize; for by putting the grains into small heaps, each heap
the price of a wether, then counting the whole, I could get to know
what I wanted.

"The idea was good. I was feeling under my pillow for the matches to
strike a light when I suddenly remembered that all the grain had been
given to the poultry. No matter, said I to myself, I have been spared
the trouble of getting out of bed for nothing. Why, it was only
yesterday, said I, still thinking about the maize, that Pascuala, the
cook, said to me when she put my dinner before me, 'Master, when are
you going to buy some grain for the fowls? How can you expect the soup
to be good when there is not even an egg to put in it? Then there is
the black cock with the twisted toe--one of the second brood the spotted
hen raised last summer, though the foxes carried off no less than three
hens from the very bushes where she was sitting--he has been going
round with drooping wings all day, so that I verily believe he is going
to have the pip. And if any epidemic comes amongst the fowls as there
was in neighbour Gumesinda's the year before last, you may be sure it
will only be for want of corn. And the strangest thing is, and it is
quite true, though you may doubt it, for neighbour Gumesinda told me
only yesterday when she came to ask me for some parsley, because, as
you know very well, her own was all rooted up when the pigs broke into
her garden last October; well, sir, she says the epidemic which swept
off twenty-seven of her best fowls in one week began by a black cock
with a broken toe, just like ours, beginning to droop its wings as if
it had the pip.'

"'May all the demons take this woman!' I cried, throwing down the spoon
I had been using, 'with her chatter about eggs and pip and neighbour
Gumesinda, and I know not what besides! Do you think I have nothing
to do but to gallop about the country looking for maize, when it is
not to be had for its weight in gold at this season, and all because
a sickly spotted hen is likely to have the pip?'

"'I have said no such thing,' retorted Pascuala, raising her voice as
women do. 'Either you are not paying proper attention to what I am
telling you, or you pretend not to understand me. For I never said the
spotted hen was likely to have the pip; and if she is the fattest fowl
in all this neighbourhood you may thank me, after the Virgin, for it,
as neighbour Gumesinda often says, for I never fail to give her chopped
meat three times a day; and that is why she is never out of the kitchen,
so that even the cats are afraid to come into the house, for she flies
like a fury into their faces. But you are always laying hold of my
words by the heels; and if I said anything at all about pip, it was
not the spotted hen, but the black cock with the twisted toe, I said
was likely to have it.'

"'To the devil with your cock and your hen!' I shouted, rising in haste
from my chair, for my patience was all gone and the woman was driving
me crazy with her story of a twisted toe and what neighbour Gumesinda
said. 'And may all the curses fall on that same woman, who is always
full as a gazette of her neighbours' affairs! I know well what the
parsley is she comes to gather in my garden. It is not enough that she
goes about the country giving importance to the couplets I sang to
Montenegro's daughter, when I danced with her at Cousin Teodoro's dance
after the cattle-marking, when, heaven knows, I never cared the blue
end of a finger-nail for that girl. But things have now come to a
pretty pass when even a chicken with a broken toe cannot be indisposed
in my house without neighbour Gumesinda thrusting her beak into the
matter!'

"Such anger did I feel at Pascuala when I remembered these things and
other things besides, for there is no end to that woman's tongue, that
I could have thrown the dish of meat at her head.

"Just then, while occupied with these thoughts, I fell asleep. Next
morning I got up, and without beating my head any more I bought the
horses and paid Manuel his price. For there is in me this excellent
gift, when I am puzzled in mind and in doubt about anything, night
makes everything plain to me, and I rise refreshed and with my
determination formed."

Here ended Anselmo's story, without one word about those marvellous
matters he had set out to tell. They had all been clean forgotten. He
began to make a cigarette, and, fearing that he was about to launch
forth on some fresh subject, I hastily bade good night and retreated
to my bed.




CHAPTER IX


Early next morning Anselmo took his departure, but I was up in time
to say good-bye to the worthy spinner of interminable yarns leading
to nothing. I was, in fact, engaged in performing my morning ablutions
in a large wooden bucket under the willows when he placed himself in
the saddle; then, after carefully arranging the drapery of his
picturesque garments, he trotted gently away, the picture of a man
with a tranquil stomach and at peace with the whole world, even
neighbour Gumesinda included.

I had spent a somewhat restless night, strange to say, for my hospitable
hostess had provided me with a deliciously soft bed, a very unusual
luxury in the Banda Orientál, and when I plunged into it there were
no hungry bedfellows waiting my advent within its mysterious folds.
I thought about the pastoral simplicity of the lives and character of
the good people slumbering near me; and that inconsequent story of
Anselmo's about Manuel and Pascuala caused me to laugh several times.
Finally my thoughts, which had been roaming around in a wild, uncertain
manner, like rooks "blown about the windy skies," settled quietly down
to the consideration of that beautiful anomaly, that mystery of
mysteries, the white-faced Margarita. For how, in the name of heredity,
had she got there? Whence that pearly skin and lithesome form; the
proud, sweet mouth, the nose that Phidias might have taken for a model;
the clear, spiritual, sapphire eyes, and the wealth of silky hair,
that if unbound would cover her as with a garment of surpassing beauty?
With such a problem vexing my curious brain, what sleep could a
philosopher get?

When Batata saw me making preparations for departure, he warmly pressed
me to stay to breakfast. I consented at once, for, after all, the more
leisurely one does a thing the sooner will it be accomplished--especially
in the Banda Orientál. One breakfasts here at noon, so that I had plenty
of time to see, and renew my pleasure in seeing, pretty Margarita.

In the course of the morning we had a visitor; a traveller who arrived
on a tired horse, and who slightly knew my host Batata, having, I was
told, called at the house on former occasions. Marcos Marcó was his
name; a tall, sallow-faced individual about fifty years old, slightly
grey, very dirty, and wearing threadbare gaucho garments. He had a
slouching gait and manner, and a patient, waiting, hungry animal
expression of face. Very, very keen were his eyes, and I detected him
several times watching me narrowly.

Leaving this Oriental tramp in conversation with Batata, who with
misplaced kindness had offered to provide him with a fresh horse, I
went out for a walk before breakfast. During my walk, which was along
a tiny stream at the foot of the hill on which the house stood, I found
a very lovely bell-shaped flower of a delicate rose-colour. I plucked
it carefully and took it back with me, thinking it just possible that
I might give it to Margarita should she happen to be in the way. On
my return to the house I found the traveller sitting by himself under
the corridor, engaged in mending some portion of his dilapidated
horse-gear, and sat down to have a chat with him. A clever bee will
always be able to extract honey enough to reward him from any flower,
and so I did not hesitate tackling this outwardly very unpromising
subject.

"And so you are an Englishman," he remarked, after we had had some
conversation; and I, of course, replied in the affirmative.

"What a strange thing!" he said. "And you are fond of gathering pretty
flowers?" he continued, with a glance at my treasure.

"All flowers are pretty," I replied.

"But surely, señor, some are prettier than others. Perhaps you have
observed a particularly pretty one growing in these parts--the white
margarita?"

Margarita is the Oriental vernacular for verbena; the fragrant white
variety is quite common in the country; so that I was justified in
ignoring the fellow's rather impudent meaning. Assuming as wooden an
expression as I could, I replied, "Yes, I have often observed the
flower you speak of; it is fragrant, and to my mind surpasses in beauty
the scarlet and purple varieties. But you must know, my friend, that
I am a botanist--that is, a student of plants--and they are all equally
interesting to me."

This astonished him; and, pleased with the interest he appeared to
take in the subject, I explained, in simple language, the principles
on which a classification of plants is founded, telling him about that
_lingua franca_ by means of which all the botanists in the world
of all nations are able to converse together about plants. From this
somewhat dry subject I launched into the more fascinating one of the
physiology of plants. "Now, look at this," I continued, and with my
penknife I carefully dissected the flower in my hand, for it was evident
that I could not now give it to Margarita without exposing myself to
remarks. I then proceeded to explain to him the beautiful complex
structure by means of which this campanula fertilises itself.

He listened in wonder, exhausting all the Spanish and Oriental
equivalents of such expressions as "Dear me!" "How extraordinary!"
"Lawks a mussy!" "You don't say so!" I finished my lecture, satisfied
that my superior intellect had baffled the rude creature; then,
tossingaway the fragments of the flower I had sacrificed, I restored the
penknife to my pocket.

"These are matters we do not often hear about in the Banda Orientál,"
he said. "But the English know everything--even the secrets of a flower.
They are also able to do most things. Did you ever, sir botanist, take
part in acting a comedy?"

After all, I had wasted my flower and scientific knowledge on the
animal for nothing! "Yes, I have!" I replied rather angrily; then,
suddenly remembering Eyebrows' teaching, I added, "and in tragedy
also."

"Is that so?" he exclaimed. "How amused the spectators must have been!
Well, we can all have our fill of fighting presently, for I see the
_White Flower_ coming this way to tell us that breakfast is ready.
Batata's roast beef will give something for our knives to do; I only
wish we had one of his own floury namesakes to eat with it."

I swallowed my resentment, and when Margarita came to us, looked up
into her matchless face with a smile, then rose to follow her into the
kitchen.




CHAPTER X


After breakfast I bade a reluctant good-bye to my kind entertainers,
took a last longing, lingering look at lovely Margarita, and mounted
my horse. Scarcely was I in the saddle before Marcos Marcó, who was
also about to resume his journey on the fresh horse he had borrowed,
remarked:

"You are travelling to Montevideo, good friend; I am also going in
that direction, and will take you the shortest way."

"The road will show me the way," I rejoined curtly.

"The road," he said, "is like a lawsuit; round-about, full of puddles
and pitfalls, and long to travel. It is only meant to be used by old
half-blind men and drivers of bullock-carts."

I hesitated about accepting the guidance of this strange fellow, who
appeared to have a ready wit under his heavy-slouching exterior. The
mixed contempt and humility in his speech every time he addressed me
gave me an uncomfortable sensation; then his poverty-stricken appearance
and his furtive glances filled me with suspicion. I looked at my host,
who was standing near, thinking to take my cue from the expression of
his face; but it was only a stolid Oriental face that revealed nothing.
An ancient rule in whist is to play trumps when in doubt; now my rule
of action is, when two courses are open to me and I am in doubt, to
take the bolder one. Acting on this principle, I determined to go with
Marcos, and accordingly we rode forth together.

My guide soon struck away across-country, leading me wide of the public
road, through such lonely places that I at length began to suspect him
of some sinister design against my person, since I had no property
worth taking. Presently he surprised me by saying: "You were right,
my young friend, in casting away idle fears when you accepted my
company. Why do you let them return to trouble your peace? Men of your
blood have never inflicted injuries on me that cry out for vengeance.
Can I make myself young again by shedding your life, or would there
be any profit in changing these rags I now wear for your garments,
which are also dusty and frayed? No, no, sir Englishman, this dress
of patience and suffering and exile, my covering by day and my bed by
night, must soon be changed for brighter garments than you are wearing."

This speech relieved me sensibly, and I smiled at the poor devil's
ambitious dream of wearing a soldier's greasy red jacket; for I supposed
that that was what his words meant. Still, his "shortest way" to
Montevideo continued to puzzle me considerably. For two or three hours
we had been riding nearly parallel to a range of hills, or _cuchilla,_
extending away on our left hand towards the south-east. But we were
gradually drawing nearer to it, and apparently going purposely out of our
way only to traverse a most lonely and difficult country. The few
_estancia_ houses we passed, perched on the highest points of the great
sweep of moor-like country on our right, appeared to be very far away.
Where we rode there were no habitations, not even a shepherd's hovel; the
dry, stony soil was thinly covered with a forest of dwarf thorn-trees,
and a scanty pasturage burnt to a rust-brown colour by the summer heats;
and out of this arid region rose the hills, their brown, woodless sides
looking strangely gaunt and desolate in the fierce noonday sun.

Pointing to the open country on our right, where the blue gleam of a
river was visible, I said: "My friend, I assure you, I fear nothing,
but I cannot understand why you keep near these hills when the valley
over there would have been pleasanter for ourselves, and easier for
our horses."

"I do nothing without a reason," he said, with a strange smile. "The
water you see over there is the Rio de las Canas [River of Grey Hairs],
and those who go down into its valley grow old before their time."

Occasionally talking, but oftener silent, we jogged on till about three
o'clock in the afternoon, when suddenly, as we were skirting a patch
of scraggy woodland, a troop of six armed men emerged from it, and,
wheeling about, came directly towards us. A glance was enough to tell
us that they were soldiers or mounted policemen, scouring the country
in search of recruits, or, in other words, of deserters, skulking
criminals, and vagabonds of all descriptions. I had nothing to fear
from them, but an exclamation of rage escaped my companion's lips,
and, turning to him, I perceived that his face was of the whiteness
of ashes. I laughed, for revenge is sweet, and I still smarted a little
at his contemptuous treatment of me earlier in the day.

"Is your fear so great?" I said.

"You do not know what you say, boy!" he returned fiercely. "When you
have passed through as much hell-fire as I have and have rested as
sweetly with a corpse for a pillow, you will learn to curb your
impertinent tongue when you address a man."

An angry retort was on my lips, but a glance at his face prevented me
from uttering it--it was, in its expression, the face of a wild animal
worried by dogs.

In another moment the men had cantered up to us, and one, their
commander, addressing me, asked to see my passport.

"I carry no passport," I replied. "My nationality is a sufficient
protection, for I am an Englishman as you can see."

"We have only your word for that," said the man. "There is an English
consul in the capital, who provides English subjects with passports
for their protection, in this country. If you have not got one you
must suffer for it, and no one but yourself is to blame. I see in you
only a young man complete in all his members, and of such the republic
is in need. Your speech is also like that of one who came into the
world under this sky. You must go with us."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," I returned.

"Do not say such a thing, master," said Marcos, astonishing me very
much with the change in his tone and manner. "You know I warned you
a month ago that it was imprudent to leave Montevideo without our
passports. This officer is only obeying the orders he has received;
still, he might see that we are only what we represent ourselves to
be."

"Oh!" exclaimed the officer, turning to Marcos, "you are also an
Englishman unprovided with a passport, I suppose? You might at least
have supplied yourself with a couple of blue crockery eyes and a yellow
beard for your greater safety."

"I am only a poor son of the soil," said Marcos meekly. "This young
Englishman is looking for an _estancia_ to buy, and I came as his
attendant from the capital. We were very careless not to get our
passports before starting."

"Then, of course, this young man has plenty of money in his pocket?"
said the officer.

I did not relish the lies Marcos had taken upon himself to tell about
me, but did not quite know what the consequences of contradicting them
might be. I therefore replied that I was not so foolish as to travel
in a country like the Banda Orientál with money on my person. "To pay
for bread and cheese till I reach my destination is about as much as
I have," I added.

"The government of this country is a generous one," said the officer
sarcastically, "and will pay for all the bread and cheese you will
require. It will also provide you with beef. You must now come with
me to the Juzgado de las Cuevas, both of you."

Seeing no help for it, we accompanied our captors at a swinging gallop
over a rough, undulating country, and in about an hour and a half
reached Las Cuevas, a dirty, miserable-looking village, composed of
a few _ranchos_ built round a large plaza overgrown with weeds.
On one side stood the church, on the other a square stone building
with a flagstaff before it. This was the official building of the Juez
de Paz, or rural magistrate; just now, however, it was closed, and
with no sign of life about it except an old dead-and-alive-looking man
sitting against the closed door, with his bare, mahogany-coloured legs
stretched out in the hot sunshine.

"This is a very fine thing!" exclaimed the officer, with a curse. "I
feel very much inclined to let the men go."

"You will lose nothing by doing so, except, perhaps, a headache," said
Marcos.

"Hold your tongue till your advice is asked!" retorted the officer,
thoroughly out of temper.

"Lock them up in the _calaboso_ till the Juez comes to-morrow,
Lieutenant," suggested the old man by the door, speaking through a
bushy white beard and a cloud of tobacco-smoke.

"Do you not know that the door is broken, old fool?" said the officer.
"Lock them up! Here I am neglecting my own affairs to serve the State,
and this is how I am treated. We must now take them to the Juez at his
own house and let him look after them. Come on, boys."

We were then conducted out of Las Cuevas to a distance of about two
miles, where the Señor Juez resided in the bosom of his family. His
private residence was a very dirty, neglected-looking _estancia_
house, with a great many dogs, fowls, and children about. We dismounted,
and were immediately taken into a large room, where the magistrate sat
at a table on which lay a great number of papers--goodness knows what
they were about. The Juez was a little hatchet-faced man, with bristly
grey whiskers, standing out like a cat's moustache, and angry eyes--or,
rather with one angry eye, for over the other a cotton handkerchief
was tied. No sooner had we all entered than a hen, leading a brood of
a dozen half-grown chickens, rushed into the room after us, the chickens
instantly distributing themselves about the floor in quest of crumbs,
while the mother, more ambitious, flew on the table, scattering the
papers right and left with the wind she created.

"A thousand demons take the fowls!" cried the Juez, starting up in a
fury. "Man, go and bring your mistress here this instant. I command
her to come."

This order was obeyed by the person who had ushered us in, a
greasy-looking, swarthy-faced individual, in threadbare military
clothes; and in two or three minutes he returned, followed by a very
fat, slatternly woman, looking very good-tempered, however, who
immediately subsided, quite exhausted, into a chair.

"What is it, Fernando?" she panted.

"What is it? How can you have the courage to ask such a question,
Toribia? Look at the confusion your pestilent fowls are creating amongst
my papers--papers that concern the safety of the republic! Woman, what
measures are you going to take to stop this before I have your fowls
all killed on the spot?"

"What can I do, Fernando?--they are hungry, I suppose. I thought you
wanted to ask my advice about these prisoners--poor fellows! and here
you are with your hens."

Her placid manner acted like oil on the fire of his wrath. He stormed
about the room, kicking over chairs, and hurling rulers and
paper-weights at the birds, apparently with the most deadly intentions,
but with shockingly bad aim--shouting, shaking his fist at his wife,
and even threatening to commit her for contempt of court when she
laughed. At last, after a great deal of trouble, the fowls were all
got out, and the servant placed to guard the door, with strict orders
to decapitate the first chicken that should attempt to enter and disturb
the proceedings.

Order being restored, the Juez lit a cigarette and began to smooth his
ruffled feathers. "Proceed," he said to the officer, from his seat at
the table.

"Sir," said the officer, "in pursuance of my duty I have taken in
charge these two strangers, who are unprovided with passports or
documents of any description to corroborate their statements. According
to their story, the young man is an English millionaire going about
the country buying up estates, while the other man is his servant.
There are twenty-five reasons for disbelieving their story, but I have
not sufficient time to impart them to you now. Having found the doors
of the Juzgado closed, I have brought these men here with great
inconvenience to myself; and I am now only waiting to have this business
despatched without further delay, so that I may have a little time
left to devote to my private affairs."

"Address not me in this imperative manner, sir officer!" exclaimed the
Juez, his anger blazing out afresh. "Do you imagine, sir, that I have
no private interests; that the State feeds and clothes my wife and
children? No, sir, I am the servant of the republic, not the slave;
and I beg to remind you that official business must be transacted
during the proper hours and at the proper place."

"Sir Juez," said the officer, "it is my opinion that a civil magistrate
ought never to have any part in matters which more properly come under
the military authorities. However, since these things are differently
arranged, and I am compelled to come with my reports to you in the
first place, I am only here to know, without entering into any
discussion concerning your position in the republic, what is to be
done with these two prisoners I have brought before you."

"Done with them! Send them to the devil! cut their throats; let them
go; do what you like, since you are responsible, not I. And be sure,
sir officer, I shall not fail to report your insubordinate language
to your superiors."

"Your threats do not alarm me," said the officer; "for one cannot be
guilty of insubordination towards a person one is not bound to obey.
And now, sirs," he added, turning to us, "I have been advised to release
you; you are free to continue your journey."

Marcos rose with alacrity.

"Man, sit down!" yelled the irate magistrate, and poor Marcos,
thoroughly crestfallen, sat down again. "Sir Lieutenant," continued
the fierce old man, "you are dismissed from further attendance here.
The republic you profess to serve would perhaps be just as well off
without your valuable aid. Go, sir, to attend to your private affairs,
and leave your men here to execute my commands."

The officer rose, and, having made a profound and sarcastic bow, turned
on his heel and left the room.

"Take these two prisoners to the stocks," continued the little despot.
"I will examine them to-morrow."

Marcos was first marched out of the room by two of the soldiers; for
it happened that an outhouse on the place was provided with the usual
wooden arrangement to make captives secure for the night. But when the
other men took me by the arms, I recovered from the astonishment the
magistrate's order had produced in me, and shook them roughly aside.
"Señor Juez," I said, addressing him, "let me beg you to consider what
you are doing. Surely my accent is enough to satisfy any reasonable
person that I am not a native of this country. I am willing to remain
in your custody, or to go wherever you like to send me; but your men
shall tear me to pieces before making me suffer the indignity of the
stocks. If you maltreat me in any way, I warn you that the government
you serve will only censure, and perhaps ruin you, for your imprudent
zeal."

Before he could reply, his fat spouse, who had apparently taken a great
fancy to me, interposed on my behalf, and persuaded the little savage
to spare me.

"Very well," he said, "consider yourself a guest in my house for the
present; if you are telling the truth about yourself, a day's detention
cannot hurt you."

I was then conducted by my kind intercessor into the kitchen, where
we all sat down to partake of _maté_ and talk ourselves into good
humour.

I began to feel rather sorry for poor Marcos, for even a worthless
vagabond, such as he appeared to be, becomes an object of compassion
when misfortune overtakes him, and I asked permission to see him. This
was readily granted. I found him confined in a large empty room built
apart from the house; he had been provided with a _maté_-cup and
a kettle of hot water, and was sipping his bitter beverage with an air
of stoical indifference. His legs, confined in the stocks, were thrust
straight out before him; but I suppose he was accustomed to
uncomfortable positions, for he did not seem to mind it much. After
sympathising with him in a general way, I asked him whether he could
really sleep in that position.

"No," he replied, with indifference. "But, do you know, I do not mind
about being taken. They will send me to the _comandancia_, I
suppose, and after a few days liberate me. I am a good workman on
horseback, and there will not be wanting some _estanciero_ in
need of hands to get me out. Will you do me one small service, friend,
before you go to your bed?"

"Yes, certainly, if I can," I answered.

He laughed slightly and looked at me with a strange, keen glitter in
his eyes; then, taking my hand, he gave it a powerful grip. "No, no,
my friend, I am not going to trouble you to do anything for me," he
said. "I have the devil's temper, and to-day, in a moment of rage, I
insulted you. It therefore surprised me when you came here and spoke
kindly to me. I desired to know whether that feeling was only on the
surface; since the men one meets with are often like horned cattle.
When one falls, his companions of the pasture-ground remember only his
past offences, and make haste to gore him."

His manner surprised me; he did not now seem like the Marcos Marcó I
had travelled with that day. Touched with his words, I sat down on the
stocks facing him, and begged him to tell me what I could do for him.

"Well, friend," said he, "you see the stocks are fastened with a
padlock. If you will get the key, and take me out, I will sleep well;
then in the morning, before the old one-eyed lunatic is up, you can
come and turn the key in the lock again. Nobody will be the wiser."

"And you are not thinking of escaping?" I said.

"I have not even the faintest wish to escape," he replied.

"You could not escape if you did," I said, "for the room would be
locked, of course. But if I were disposed to do what you ask, how could
I get the key?"

"That is an easy matter," said Marcos. "Ask the good señora to let you
have it. Did I not notice her eyes dwelling lovingly on your face--for,
doubtless, you reminded her of some absent relative, a favourite nephew,
perhaps. She would not deny you anything in reason; and a kindness,
friend, even to the poorest man, is never thrown away."

"I will think about it," I said, and shortly after that I left him.

It was a sultry evening, and, the close, smoky atmosphere of the kitchen
becoming unendurable, I went out and sat down on a log of wood out of
doors. Here the old Juez, in his character of amiable host, came and
discoursed for half an hour on lofty matters relating to the republic.
Presently his wife came out, and, declaring that the evening air would
have an injurious effect on his inflamed eye, persuaded him to go
indoors. Then she subsided into a place at my side, and began to talk
about Fernando's dreadful temper and the many cares of her life.

"What a very serious young man you are!" she remarked, changing her
tone somewhat abruptly. "Do you keep all your gay and pleasant speeches
for the young and pretty señoritas?"

"Ah, señora, you are yourself young and beautiful in my eyes," I
replied; "but I have no heart to be gay when my poor fellow-traveller
is fastened in the stocks, where your cruel husband would also have
confined me but for your timely intervention. You are so kind-hearted,
cannot you have his poor tired legs taken out in order that he may
also rest properly to-night?"

"Ah, little friend," she returned. "I could not attempt such a thing.
Fernando is a monster of cruelty, and would immediately put out my
eyes without remorse. Poor me, what I have to endure!"--and here she
placed her fat hand on mine.

I drew my hand away somewhat coldly; a born diplomatist could not have
managed the thing better.

"Madam," I said, "you are amusing yourself at my expense. When you
have done me a great favour, will you now deny me this small thing?
If your husband is so terrible a despot, surely you can do this without
letting him know! Let me get my poor Marcos out of the stocks and I
give you my word of honour that the Juez will never hear of it, for
I will be up early to turn the key in the lock before he is out of his
bed."

"And what will my reward be?" she asked, again putting her hand on
mine.

"The deep gratitude and devotion of my heart," I returned, this time
without withdrawing my hand.

"Can I refuse anything to my sweet boy?" said she. "After supper I
shall slip the key into your hand; I am going now to get it from his
room. Before Fernando retires, ask to see your Marcos, to take him a
rug, or some tobacco or something; and do not let the servant see what
you do, for he will be at the door waiting to lock it when you come
out."

After supper the promised key was secretly conveyed to me, and I had
not the least difficulty in liberating my friend in misfortune. Luckily
the man who took me to Marcos left us alone for some time, and I related
my conversation with the fat woman.

He jumped up, and, seizing my hand, wrung it till I almost screamed
with pain.

"My good friend," he said, "you have a noble, generous soul, have done
me the greatest service it is possible for one man to render to another.
You have, in fact, now placed me in a position to--enjoy my night's
rest. Good night, and may Heaven's angels put it in my power to reward
you at some future time!"

The fellow was overdoing it a little, I thought; then, when I had seen
him safely locked up for the night, I walked back to the kitchen slowly
and very thoughtfully.




CHAPTER XI


I walked thoughtfully back, because, after rendering that unimportant
service to Marcos, I began to experience sundry qualms of conscience
and inward questionings concerning the strict morality of the whole
proceeding. Allowing that I had done something very kind, charitable,
and altogether praiseworthy in getting the poor fellow's unfortunate
feet out of the stocks, did all that justify the cajolery I had
practised to attain my object? Or, to put it briefly in the old familiar
way: Does the end sanctify the means? Assuredly it does in some cases,
very easy to be imagined. Let us suppose that I have a beloved friend,
an ailing person of a nervous, delicate organisation, who has taken
it into his poor cracked brains that he is going to expire at the
stroke of twelve on a given night. Without consulting the authorities
on ethical questions, I should, in such a case, flit about his room
secretly manipulating his timepieces, till I had advanced them a whole
hour, and then, just before the stroke of midnight, triumphantly produce
my watch and inform him that death had failed to keep the appointment.
Such an acted lie as that would weigh nothing on the conscience of any
man. The fact of the matter is, the circumstances must always be
considered and every case judged on its own particular merits. Now,
this affair of getting the key was not one for me to judge, since Ihad
been a chief actor in it, but rather for some acute and learned
casuist. I therefore made a mental note of it, with the intention of
putting it impartially before the first person of that description I
should meet. Having thus disposed of a troublesome matter, I felt
greatly relieved in mind, and turned into the kitchen once more. I had
scarcely sat down, however, before I round that one disagreeable
consequence of my performance--the fat señora's claim on my undying
devotion and gratitude--had yet to be faced. She greeted my entrance
with an effusive smile; and the sweetest smiles of some people one
meets are less endurable than their black looks. In self-defence I
assumed as drowsy and vacant an expression as I could summon on the
instant to a countenance by nature almost too ingenuous. I pretended
not to hear, or to misunderstand, everything that was said to me;
finally I grew so sleepy that I was several times on the point of
falling off my chair, then, after each extravagant nod, I would start
up and stare vacantly around me. My grim little host could scarcely
conceal a quiet smile, for never had he seen a person so outrageously
sleepy before. At length he mercifully remarked that I seemed fatigued,
and advised me to retire. Very gladly I made my exit, followed in my
retreat from the kitchen by a pair of sad, reproachful eyes.

I slept soundly enough in the comfortable bed, which my obese Gulnare
had provided for me, until the numerous cocks of the establishment
woke me shortly after daybreak with their crowing. Remembering that
I had to secure Marcos in the stocks before the irascible little
magistrate should appear on the scene, I rose and hastily dressed
myself. I found the greasy man of the brass buttons already in the
kitchen sipping his matutinal _maté-amargo,_ and asked him to
lend me the key of the prisoner's room; for this was what I had been
instructed to do by the señora. He got up and went with me to open the
door himself, not caring, I suppose, to trust me with the key. When
he threw the door open we stood silently gazing for some time into the
empty apartment. The prisoner had vanished and a large hole cut in the
thatch of the roof showed how and where he had made his exit. I felt
very much exasperated at the shabby trick the fellow had played on us,
on me especially, for I was in a measure responsible for him.
Fortunately the man who opened the door never suspected me of being
an accomplice, but merely remarked that the stocks had evidently been
left unlocked by the soldiers the evening before, so that it was not
strange the prisoner had made his escape.

When the other members of the household got up, the matter was discussed
with little excitement or even interest, and I soon concluded that the
secret of the escape would remain between the lady of the house and
myself. She watched for an opportunity to speak to me alone, then,
shaking her fat forefinger at me in playful anger, whispered, "Ah,
deceiver, you planned it all with him last evening and only made me
your instrument!"

"Señora," I protested, with dignity, "I assure you on the word of
honour of an Englishman, I never suspected the man had any intention
of escaping. I am very angry it has happened."

"What do you suppose I care about his escaping?" she replied laughingly.
"For your sake, sweet friend, I would gladly open the doors of every
prison in the Banda if I had the power."

"Ah, how you flatter! But I must now go to your husband to learn from
him what he intends doing with the prisoner who has not attempted to
escape."

With this excuse I got away from her.

The wretched little Juez, when I spoke to him, put me off with a number
of vague, meaningless phrases about his responsible position, the
peculiar nature of his functions, and the unsettled state of the
republic--as if it had ever known or was ever likely to know any other
state! He then mounted his horse and rode away to Las Cuevas, leaving
me with that dreadful woman; and I verily believe that in doing so he
was only carrying out her private instructions. The only comfort he
gave me was the promise he made before going that a communication
respecting me would be forwarded to the Commandante of the district
in the course of the day, which would probably result in my being
passed on to that functionary. In the meanwhile he begged me to make
free use of his house and everything in it. Of course, the misguided
little wretch had no intention of throwing his fat wife at my head;
still, I had no doubt that it was she who inspired these complimentary
phrases, telling him, perhaps, that he would lose nothing by a courteous
treatment of the "English millionaire."

When he rode away he left me sitting on the gate, feeling very much
disgusted, and almost wishing that, like Marcos Marcó, I had run away
during the night. Never had I taken so sudden and violent a dislike
to anything as I then and there did to that estancia, where I was an
honoured, albeit a compulsory guest. The hot, brilliant morning sunshone
down on the discoloured thatch and mud-plastered walls of the
sordid-looking building, while all about wherever I cast my eyes they
rested on weeds, old bones, broken bottles, and other rubbish--eloquent
witnesses of the dirty, idle, thriftless character of the inmates.
Meanwhile my sweet, angelic child-wife, with her violet eyes dim with
tears, was waiting for me far away in Montevideo, wondering at my long
absence, and even now perhaps shading her face with her lily hand and
looking out on the white dusty road watching for my arrival! And here
I was compelled to sit, idly swinging my legs on the gate, because
that abominable fat woman had taken a fancy to keep me by her! Feeling
mad with indignation, I suddenly jumped down from the gate with an
exclamation not intended for ears polite, causing my hostess to jump
also and utter a scream; for there she was (confound her!) standing
just behind me.

"The Saints defend me!" she exclaimed, recovering herself and laughing;
"what made you startle me so?"

I apologised for the strong expression I had used; then added, "Señora,
I am a young man full of energy and accustomed to take a great deal
of exercise every day, and I am getting very impatient sitting here
basking in the sunshine, like a turtle on a bank of mud."

"Why, then, do you not take a walk?" she said, with kind concern.

I said I would gladly do so, and thanked her for the permission; then
she immediately offered to accompany me. I protested very ungallantly
that I was a fast walker, and reminded her that the sun was excessively
hot, and I should also have liked to add that she was excessively fat.
She replied that it did not matter; so polite a person as myself would
know how to accommodate his pace to that of his companion. Unable to
shake her off, I started for my walk in a somewhat unamiable mood, the
stout lady resolutely trudging on at my side, perspiring abundantly.
Our path led us down to a little cañada, or valley, where the ground
was moist and abounding with numerous pretty flowers and feathery
grasses, very refreshing to look at after leaving the parched yellow
ground about the estancia house.

"You seem to be very fond of flowers," observed my companion. "Let me
help you gather them. To whom will you give your nosegay when it is
made?"

"Señora," I replied, vexed at her trivial chatter, "I will give it to
the--" I had almost said to the devil, when a piercing scream she
uttered suddenly arrested the rude speech on my lips.

Her fright had been caused by a pretty little snake, about eighteen
inches long, which she had seen gliding away at her feet. And no wonder
it glided away from her with all the speed it was capable of, for how
gigantic and deformed a monster that fat woman must have seemed to it!
The terror of a timid little child at the sight of a hippopotamus,
robed in flowing bed-curtains and walking erect on its hind legs, would
perhaps be comparable to the panic possessing the shallow brain of the
poor speckled thing when that huge woman came striding over it.

First I laughed, and then, seeing that she was about to throw herself
for protection like a mountain of flesh upon me, I turned and ran after
the snake--for I had observed that it belonged to a harmless species,
one of the innocuous Coronella genus--and I was anxious to annoy the
woman. I captured it in a moment; then, with the poor frightened
creature struggling in my hand and winding itself about my wrist, I
walked back to her.

"Did you ever see such lovely colours?" I cried. "Look at the delicate
primrose yellow on its neck, deepening into vivid crimson on the belly.
Talk of flowers and butterflies! And its eyes are bright as two small
diamonds--look closely at them, señora, for they are well worth your
admiration."

But she only turned and fled away screaming at my approach, and at
last, finding that I would not obey her and drop the terrible reptile,
she left me in a towering rage and went back to the house by herself.

After that I continued my walk in peace amongst the flowers; but my
little speckled captive had served me so well that I would not release
it. It occurred to me that if I kept it on my person it might serve
as a sort of talisman to protect me from the disagreeable attentions
of the señora. Finding that it was a very sly little snakey, and, like
Marcos Marcó in captivity, full of subtle deceit, I put it into my
hat, which, when firmly pressed on to my head, left no opening for the
little arrowy head to insinuate itself through. After spending two or
three hours botanising in the _cañada_, I returned to the house.
I was in the kitchen refreshing myself with a bitter _maté_, when
my hostess came in beaming with smiles, for she had, I suppose, forgiven
me by this time. I politely rose and removed my hat. Unfortunately I
had forgotten the snake, when out it dropped on the floor; then followed
screams, confusion and scuttling out of the kitchen by madame, children,
and servants. After that I was compelled to carry the snake out and
give it back its liberty, which no doubt tasted very sweet to it after
its close confinement. On my return to the house, one of the servants
informed me that the señora was too much offended to sit in the same
room with me again, so that I was obliged to have my breakfast alone;
and for the remainder of the time during which I was a prisoner I was
avoided by everyone (except Brass Buttons,--who appeared indifferent
to everything on earth), as if I had been a leper or a dangerous
lunatic. They thought, perhaps, that I still had other reptiles
concealed about my person.

Of course, one always expects to find a cruel, unreasoning prejudice
against snakes amongst ignorant people, but I never knew before to
what ridiculous lengths it will carry them. The prejudice makes me
angry, but on this occasion it had a use, for it enabled me to pass
the day unmolested.

In the evening the Juez returned, and I soon heard him loud in a stormy
altercation with his wife. Perhaps she wanted him to have me
decapitated. How it ended I cannot say; but when I saw him his manner
towards me was freezing, and he retired without giving me an opportunity
of speaking to him.

Next morning I got up resolved not to be put off any longer. Something
would have to be done, or I would know the reason why. On stepping out
I was very much surprised to see my horse standing saddled at the gate.
I went into the kitchen and asked Brass Buttons, the only person up,
what it meant.

"Who knows?" he returned, giving me a _maté_. "Perhaps the Juez
desires you to leave the house before he is up."

"What did he say?" I demanded.

"Say? Nothing--what should he say?"

"But you saddled the horse, I suppose?"

"Of course. Who else would do it?"

"Were you told to do so by the Juez?"

"Told? Why should he tell me?"

"How, then, am I to know that he wishes me to leave his beautiful
house?" I asked, getting angry.

"The question!" he returned, shrugging his shoulders. "How do you know
when it is going to rain?"

Finding there was nothing more to be got out of the fellow, I finishing
taking _maté_, lit a cigar, and left the house. It was a lovely
morning, without a cloud, and the heavy dew sparkled on the grass like
drops of rain. What a pleasant thing it was to be able to ride forth
again free to go where I liked!

And so ends my snake-story, which is perhaps not very interesting; but
it is true, and therefore has one advantage over all other snake-stories
told by travellers.




CHAPTER XII


Before leaving the magistrate's _estancia_ I had made up my mind
to return by the shortest route, and as quickly as possible, to
Montevideo; and that morning, mounted on a well-rested horse, I covered
a great deal of ground. By twelve o'clock, when I stopped to rest my
horse and get some refreshment at a wayside _pulpería_, I had got
over about eight leagues. This was travelling at an imprudent pace,
of course; but in the Banda Orientál it is so easy to pick up a fresh
horse that one becomes somewhat reckless. My journey that morning had
taken me over the eastern portion of the Durazno district, and I was
everywhere charmed with the beauty of the country, though it was still
very dry, the grass on the higher lands being burnt to various shades
of yellow and brown. Now, however, the summer heats were over, for the
time was near the end of February; the temperature, without being
oppressive, was deliciously warm, so that travelling on horseback was
delightful. I might fill dozens of pages with descriptions of pretty
bits of country I passed that day, but must plead guilty of an
unconquerable aversion to this kind of writing. After this candid
confession, I hope the reader will not quarrel with me for the omission;
besides, anyone who cares for these things, and knows how evanescent
are the impressions left by word pictures on the mind, can sail the
seas and gallop round the world to see them all for himself. It is
not, however, every wanderer from England--I blush while saying it--who
can make himself familiar with the home habits, the ways of thought
and speech, of a distant people. Bid me discourse of lowly valley,
lofty height, of barren waste, shady wood, or cooling stream where I
have drunk and been refreshed; but all these places, pleasant or dreary,
must be in the kingdom called the heart.

After getting some information about the country I had to traverse
from the _pulpero_, who told me that I would probably reach the
River Yí before evening, I resumed my journey. About four o'clock in
the afternoon I came to an extensive wood of thorn-trees, of which the
_pulpero_ had spoken, and, in accordance with his instructions,
I skirted it on the eastern side. The trees were not large, but there
was an engaging wildness about this forest, full of the musical chatter
of birds, which tempted me to alight from my horse and rest for an
hour in the shade. Taking the bit from his mouth to let him feed, I
threw myself down on the dry grass under a clump of shady thorns, and
for half an hour watched the sparkling sunlight falling through the
foliage overhead, and listened to the feathered people that came about
me, loudly chirping, apparently curious to know what object had brought
me to their haunts. Then I began to think of all the people I had
recently mixed with: the angry magistrate and his fat wife--horrid
woman!--and Marcos Marcó, that shabby rascal, rose up before me to
pass quickly away, and once more I was face to face with that lovely
mystery Margarita. In imagination I put forth my hands to take hers,
and drew her towards me so as to look more closely into her eyes,
vainly questioning them as to their pure sapphire hue. Then I imagined
or dreamt that with trembling fingers I unbraided her hair to let it
fall like a splendid golden mantle over her mean dress, and asked her
how she came to possess that garment of glory. The sweet, grave, child
lips smiled, but returned no answer. Then a shadowy face seemed to
shape itself dimly against the green curtain of foliage, and, looking
over the fair girl's shoulder, gaze sadly into my eyes. It was the
face of Paquíta. Ah, sweet wife, never let the green-eyed monster
trouble the peace of your heart! Know that the practical Saxon mind
of your husband is puzzling itself over a purely scientific problem,
that this surpassingly fair child interests me only because her fairness
seems to upset all physiological laws. I was, in fact, just sinking
to sleep at this moment when the shrill note of a trumpet blown close
by and followed by loud shouts from several voices made me spring
instantly to my feet. A storm of answering shouts came from another
quarter of the wood, then followed profound silence. Presently the
trumpet sounded again, making me feel very much alarmed. My first
impulse was to spring on to my horse and ride away for dear life; but,
on second thoughts, I concluded that it would be safer to remain
concealed amongst the trees, as by leaving them I should only reveal
myself to the robbers or rebels, or whatever they were. I bridled my
horse so as to be ready to run, then drew him into a close thicket of
dark-foliaged bushes and fastened him there. The silence that had
fallen on the wood continued, and at last, unable to bear the suspense
longer, I began to make my way cautiously, revolver in hand, towards
the point the sounds had proceeded from. Stealing softly through the
bushes and trees where they grew near together, I came at length in
sight of an open piece of ground, about two or three hundred yards
wide, and overgrown with grass. Near its border on one side I was
amazed to see a group of about a dozen boys, their ages ranging from
about ten to fifteen, all standing perfectly motionless. One of them
held a trumpet in his hand, and they all wore red handkerchiefs or
rags tied round their heads. Suddenly, while I crouched amongst the
leafage watching them, a shrill note sounded from the opposite side
of the open space, and another troop of boys wearing white on their
heads burst from the trees and advanced with loud shouts of _vivas_
and _mueras_ towards the middle of the ground. Again the red heads
sounded their trumpet, and went out boldly to meet the new-comers. As
the two bands approached each other, each led by a big boy, who turned
at intervals and with many wild gestures addressed his followers,
apparently to encourage them, I was amazed to see them all suddenly
draw out long knives, such as the native horsemen usually wear, and
rush furiously together. In a moment they were mingled together in a
desperate fight, uttering the most horrible yells, their long weapons
glittering in the sunshine as they brandished them about. With such
fury did they fight that in a few moments all the combatants lay
stretched out on the grass, excepting three boys wearing the red badges.
One of these bloodthirsty young miscreants then snatched up the trumpet
and blew a victorious blast, while the other two shrieked an
accompaniment of _vivas_ and _mueras_. While they were thus
occupied one of the white-headed boys struggled to his feet, and,
snatching up a knife, charged the three reds with desperate courage.
Had I not been perfectly paralysed with amazement at what I had
witnessed, I should then have rushed out to aid this boy in his forlorn
attempt; but in an instant his three foes were on him and dragged him
down to the ground. Two of them then held him fast by the legs and
arms, the other raised his long knife, and was just about to plunge
it in the struggling captive's breast, when, uttering a loud yell, I
sprang up and rushed at them. Instantly they started up and fled
screaming towards the trees in the greatest terror; and then, most
wonderful thing of all, the dead boys all came to life, and, springing
to their feet, fled from me after the others. This brought me to a
stand, when, seeing that one of the boys limped painfully after his
companions, hopping on one leg, I made a sudden dash and captured him
before he could reach the shelter of the trees.

"Oh, señor, do not kill me!" he pleaded, bursting into tears.

"I have no wish to kill you, you unspeakable young miscreant, but I
think I ought to thrash you," I answered, for, though greatly relieved
at the turn things had taken, I was excessively annoyed at having
experienced all those sensations of blood-curdling horror for nothing.

"We were only playing at Whites and Reds," he pleaded.

I then made him sit down and tell me all about this singular game.

None of the boys lived very near, he said; some of them came a distance
of several leagues, and they had selected this locality for their
sports on account of its seclusion, for they did not like to be found
out. Their game was a mimic war of Whites and Reds, manoeuvres,
surprises, skirmishes, throat-cutting, and all.

I pitied the young patriot at the last, for he had sprained his ankle
badly and could scarcely walk, and so assisted him to the spot where
his horse was hidden; then, having helped him to mount and given him
a cigarette, for which he had the impudence to ask me, I laughingly
bade him good-bye. I went back to look for my own horse after that,
beginning to feel very much amused at the whole thing; but, alas! my
steed was gone. The young scoundrels had stolen him, to revenge
themselves on me, I suppose, for disturbing them; and to relieve me
from all doubt in the matter they left two bits of rag, one white and
the other red, attached to the branch I had fastened the bridle to.
For some time I wandered about the wood, and even shouted aloud in the
wild hope that the young fiends were not going to carry things so far
as to leave me without a horse in that solitary place. Nothing could
I see or hear of them, however, and as it was getting late and I
wasbecoming desperately hungry and thirsty, I resolved to go in search
of some habitation.

On emerging from the forest I found the adjacent plain covered with
cattle quietly grazing. Any attempt to pass through the herd would
have been almost certain death, as these more than half-wild beasts
will always take revenge on their master man when they catch him
dismounted in the open. As they were coming up from the direction of
the river, and were slowly grazing past the wood, I resolved to wait
for them to pass on before leaving my concealment. I sat down and tried
to be patient, but the brutes were in no hurry, and went on skirting
the wood at a snail's pace. It was about six o'clock before the last
stragglers had left, and then I ventured out from my hiding-place,
hungry as a wolf and afraid of being overtaken by night before finding
any human habitation. I had left the trees half a mile behind me, and
was walking hurriedly along towards the valley of the Yí, when, passing
over a hillock, I suddenly found myself in sight of a bull resting on
the grass and quietly chewing his cud. Unfortunately the brute saw me
at the same moment and immediately stood up. He was, I think, about
three or four years old, and a bull of that age is even more dangerous
than an older one; for he is quite as truculent as the other and far
more active. There was no refuge of any kind near, and I knew very
well that to attempt to escape by running would only increase my danger,
so after gazing at him for a few moments I assumed an easy, unconcerned
manner and walked on; but he was not going to be taken in that way,
and began to follow me. Then for the first, and I devoutly hope for
the last, time in my life I was compelled to resort to the gaucho plan,
and, casting myself face downwards on the earth, lay there simulating
death. It is a miserable, dangerous expedient, but, in the circumstances
I found myself, the only one offering a chance of escape from a very
terrible death. In a few moments I heard his heavy tramp, then felt
him sniffing me all over. After that he tried unsuccessfully to roll
me over, in order to study my face, I suppose. It was horrible to
endure the prods he gave me and lie still, but after a while he grew
quieter, and contented himself by simply keeping guard over me;
occasionally smelling at my head, then turning round to smell at my
heels. Probably his theory was, if he had one, that I had fainted with
fear at the sight of him and would recover presently, but he was not
quite sure at which end of me returning life would first show itself.
About once in every five or six minutes he seemed to get impatient,
and then he would paw me with his heavy hoof, uttering a low, hoarse
moaning, spattering me with froth from his mouth; but as he showed no
disposition to leave, I at last resolved to try a very bold experiment,
for my position was becoming unendurable. I waited till the brute's
head was turned from me, then worked my hand cautiously down to my
revolver; but before I had quite drawn it, he noticed the movement and
wheeled swiftly round, kicking my legs as he did so. Just as he brought
his head round close to mine, I discharged the weapon in his face, and
the sudden explosion so terrified him that he turned tail and fled,
never pausing in his lumbering gallop till he was out of sight. It was
a glorious victory; and though I could scarcely stand on my legs at
first, so stiff and bruised did I feel all over, I laughed with joy,
and even sent another bullet whizzing after the retreating monster,
accompanying the discharge with a wild yell of triumph.

After that I proceeded without further interruption on my walk, and,
had I not felt so ravenously hungry and so sore where the bull had
trod on me or prodded me with his horns, the walk would have been very
enjoyable, for I was now approaching the Yí. The ground grew moist and
green, and flowers abounded, many of them new to me, and so lovely and
fragrant that in my admiration for them I almost forgot my pain. The
sun went down, but no house appeared in sight. Over the western heavens
flamed the brilliant hues of the afterglow, and from the long grass
came the sad, monotonous trill of some night insect. Troops of hooded
gulls flew by me on their way from their feeding grounds to the water,
uttering their long, hoarse, laughter-like cries. How buoyant and happy
they seemed, flying with their stomachs full to their rest; while I,
dismounted and supperless, dragged painfully on like a gull that had
been left behind with a broken wing. Presently, through the purple and
saffron-hued vapours in the western sky, the evening star appeared,
large and luminous, the herald of swift-coming darkness; and
then--weary, bruised, hungry, baffled, and despondent--I sat down to
meditate on my forlorn position.




CHAPTER XIII


I sat there till it was very dark, and the longer I sat the colder and
stiffer I grew, yet I felt no disposition to walk farther. At length
a large owl, flapping down close to my head, gave utterance to a long
hiss, followed by a sharp, clicking sound, ending with a sudden loud,
laugh-like cry. The nearness of it startled me, and, looking up, I saw
a twinkling yellow light gleam for a moment across the wide, black
plain, then disappear. A few fireflies were flitting about the grass,
but I felt sure the gleam just witnessed proceeded from a fire; and
after vainly trying to catch sight of it again from my seat on the
ground, I rose and walked on, keeping before me a particular star
shining directly over the spot where that transient glimmer had
appeared. Presently, to my great joy, I spied it again in the same
place, and felt convinced that it was the gleam of firelight shining
from the open door or window of some _rancho_ or _estancia_ house. With
renewed hope and energy I hastened on, the light increasing in brightness
as I progressed; and, after half an hour's brisk walking, I found myself
approaching a human dwelling of some kind. I could make out a dark mass
of trees and bushes, a long, low house, and, nearer to me, a corral, or
cattle-pen, of tall, upright posts. Now, however, when a refuge seemed so
close, the fear of the terrible, savage dogs kept on most of these
cattle-breeding establishments made me hesitate. Unless I wished to run
the risk of being shot, it was necessary to shout loudly to make my
approach known, yet by shouting I would inevitably bring a pack of huge,
frantic dogs upon me; and the horns of the angry bull I had encountered
were less terrible to contemplate than the fangs of these powerful,
truculent brutes. I sat down on the ground to consider the position, and
presently heard the clatter of approaching hoofs. Immediately afterwards
three men rode past me, but did not see me, for I was crouching down
behind some scrubby bushes. When the horsemen approached the house the
dogs rushed forth to assail them, and their loud, fierce barking, and the
wild shouts of some person from the house calling them off, were enough
to make a dismounted man nervous. However, now was my only chance, and,
starting up, I hurried on towards the noise. As I passed the corral the
brutes became aware of my approach, and instantly turned their attention
on me. I wildly shouted. _"Ave Maria,"_ then, revolver in hand, stood
awaiting the onset; but when they were near enough for me to see that
the pack was composed of eight or ten huge yellow mastiff-like brutes,
my courage failed, and I fled to the corral, where, with an agility
surpassing that of a wild cat, so great was my terror, I climbed up
a post and placed myself beyond their reach. With the dogs furiously
barking under me, I renewed my shouts of _"Ave Maria"_--the proper
thing to do when you approach a strange house in these pious latitudes.
After some time the men approached--four of them--and asked me who
I was and what I did there. I gave an account of myself, then asked
whether it would be safe for me to descend. The master of the house
took the hint, and drove his faithful protectors off, after which I
came down from my uncomfortable perch.

He was a tall, well-made, but rather fierce-looking gaucho, with keen
black eyes, and a heavy black beard. He seemed suspicious of me--a
very unusual thing in a native's house, and asked me a great many
searching questions; and finally, still with some reluctance in his
manner, he invited me into the kitchen. There I found a big fire blazing
merrily on the raised clay hearth in the centre of the large room, and
seated near it an old grey-haired woman, a middle-aged, tall,
dark-skinned dame in a purple dress--my host's wife; a pale, pretty
young woman, about sixteen years old, and a little girl. When I sat
down my host began once more questioning me; but he apologised for
doing so, saying that my arrival on foot seemed a very extraordinary
circumstance. I told them how I had lost my horse, saddle, and
_poncho_ in the wood, and then related my encounter with the bull.
They listened to it all with very grave faces, but I am sure it was
as good as a comedy to them. Don Sinforiano Alday--the owner of the
place, and my questioner--made me take off my coat to exhibit the
bruises the bull's hoofs had inflicted on my arms and shoulders. He
was anxious, even after that, to know something more about me, and so
to satisfy him I gave him a brief account of some of my adventures in
the country, down to my arrest with Marcos Marcó, and how that plausible
gentleman had made his escape from the magistrate's house. That made
them all laugh, and the three men I had seen arrive, and who appeared
to be casual visitors, became very friendly, frequently passing me the
rum-bottle with which they were provided.

After sipping _maté_ and rum for half an hour we settled down to
discuss a plentiful supper of roast and boiled beef and mutton, with
great basins of well-seasoned broth to wash it down. I consumed an
amazing quantity of meat, as much, in fact, as any gaucho there; and
to eat as much as one of these men at a sitting is a feat for an
Englishman to boast about. Supper done, I lit a cigar and leant back
against the wall, enjoying many delightful sensations all
together--warmth, rest, and hunger satisfied, and the subtle fragrance
of that friend and comforter, divine tobacco. On the farther side of
the room my host was meanwhile talking to the other men in low tones.
Occasional glances in my direction seemed to show that they still
harboured some suspicion of me, or that they had some grave matters
to converse about unsuitable for a stranger to hear.

At length Alday rose and addressed me. "Señor, if you are ready to
rest I will now conduct you to another room, where you can have some
rugs and _ponchos_ to make a bed with."

"If my presence here is not inconvenient," I returned, "I would rather
remain and smoke by the fire."

"You see, señor," he said, "I have arranged to meet some neighbours
and friends, who are coming here to discuss matters of importance with
me. I am even now expecting their arrival, and the presence of a
stranger would scarcely allow us to talk freely over our affairs."

"Since you wish it, I will go to any part of the house you may think
proper to put me in," I returned.

I rose, not very cheerfully, I must say, from my comfortable seat
before the fire, to follow him out, when the tramp of galloping horses
came to our ears.

"Follow me this way--quick," exclaimed my impatient conductor; but
just as I reached the door about a dozen mounted men dashed up close
to us and burst forth in a perfect storm of yells. Instantly all those
who were in the kitchen sprang to their feet uttering loud exclamations
and looking greatly excited. Then came from the mounted men another
wild outburst as they all yelled together, _"Viva el General Santa
Coloma--viv--a."_

The other three men then rushed from the kitchen, and in excited tones
began to ask if anything fresh had happened. Meanwhile I was left
standing at the door by myself. The women appeared almost as excited
as the men, except the girl, who had glanced at me with shy compassion
in her large, dark eyes when I had been roused from my seat by the
fire. Taking advantage of the general excitement, I now repaid that
kindly look with one of admiration. She was a quiet, bashful girl, her
pale face crowned with a profusion of black hair; and while she stood
there waiting, apparently unconcerned by the hubbub outside, she looked
strangely pretty, her homemade cotton gown, of limp and scanty material,
clinging closely to her limbs so as to display her slender, graceful
form to the best advantage. Presently, seeing me looking at her, she
came near, and, touching my arm in passing, told me in a whisper to
go back to my seat by the fire. I gladly obeyed her, for my curiosity
was now thoroughly aroused, and I wished to know the meaning of this
outcry which had thrown these phlegmatic gauchos into such a frenzied
state of excitement. It looked rather like a political row--but of
General Santa Coloma I had never heard, and it seemed curious that a
name so seldom mentioned should be the rallying cry of revolutionists.

In a few minutes the men all streamed back into the kitchen. Then the
master of the house, Alday, his face on fire with emotion, thrust
himself into the midst of the crowd.

"Boys, are you mad!" he cried. "Do you not see a stranger here? What
is the meaning of all this outcry if nothing new has happened?"

A roar of laughter from the new-comers greeted this outburst, after
which they raised another yell of "_Viva Santa Colomal_"

Alday became furious. "Speak, madmen!" he shouted; "tell me, in God's
name, what has happened--or do you wish to ruin everything with your
imprudence?"

"Listen, Alday," replied one of the men, "and know how little we need
fear the presence of a stranger. Santa Coloma, the hope of Uruguay,
the saviour of his country, who will shortly deliver us out of the
power of Colorado assassins and pirates--Santa Coloma has come! He is
here in our midst; he has seized on El Molino del Yí, and has raised
the standard of revolt against the infamous government of Montevideo!
_Viva Santa Colomal_"

Alday flung his hat off, and, falling on his knees, remained for some
moments in silent prayer, his hands clasped before him. The others all
snatched off their hats and stood silent, grouped about him. Then he
stood up, and all together joined in a _viva_, which far surpassed
in its deafening power their previous performances.

My host now appeared to be almost beside himself with excitement.

"What," he cried, "my General come! Do you tell me that Santa Coloma
has come? Oh, friends, the great God has remembered our suffering
country at last! He has grown weary of looking on man's injustice, the
persecutions, the bloodshed, the cruelties that have almost driven us
mad. I cannot realise it! Let me go to my General, that these eyes
that have watched for his coming may see him and rejoice. I cannot
wait for daylight--this very night must I ride to El Molino, that I
may see him and touch him with my hands, and know that it is not a
dream."

His words were welcomed with a shout of applause, and the other men
all immediately announced their intention to accompany him to El Molino,
a small town on the Yí some leagues distant.

Some of the men now went out to catch fresh horses, while Alday busied
himself in bringing out a store of old broadswords and carbines from
their concealment in some other part of the house. The men, talking
excitedly together, occupied themselves in scouring and sharpening the
rusty weapons, while the women cooked a fresh supply of meat for the
last comers; and in the meantime I was permitted to remain unnoticed
by the fire, smoking peacefully.




CHAPTER XIV


The girl I have mentioned, whose name was Monica, and the child, called
Anita, were the only persons there besides myself who were not carried
away by the warlike enthusiasm of the moment. Monica, silent, pale,
almost apathetic, was occupied serving _maté_ to the numerous
guests; while the child, when the shouting and excitement was at its
height, appeared greatly terrified, and clung to Alday's wife, trembling
and crying piteously. No notice was taken of the poor little thing,
and at length she crept away into a corner to conceal herself behind
a faggot of wood. Her hiding-place was close to my seat, and after a
little coaxing I induced her to leave it and come to me. She was a
most forlorn little thing, with a white, thin face and large, dark,
pathetic eyes. Her mean little cotton frock only reached to her knees,
and her little legs and feet were bare. Her age was seven or eight;
she was an orphan, and Alday's wife, having no children of her own,
was bringing her up, or, rather, permitting her to grow up under her
roof. I drew her to me, and tried to soothe her tremors and get her
to talk. Little by little she gained confidence, and began to reply
to my questions; then I learnt that she was a little shepherdess,
although so young, and spent most of the time every day in following
the flock about on her pony. Her pony and the girl Monica, who was
some relation--cousin, the child called her--were the two beings she
seemed to have the greatest affection for.

"And when you slip off, how do you get on again?" I asked.

"Little pony is tame, and I never fall off," she said. "Sometimes I
get off, then I climb on again."

"And what do you do all day long--talk and play?"

"I talk to my doll; I take it on the pony when I go with the sheep."

"Is your doll very pretty, Anita?"

No answer.

"Will you let me see your doll, Anita? I know I shall like your doll,
because I like you."

She gave me an anxious look. Evidently doll was a very precious being
and had not met with proper appreciation. After a little nervous
fidgeting she left me and crept out of the room; then presently she
came back, apparently trying to screen something from the vulgar gaze
in her scanty little dress. It was her wonderful doll--the dear
companion of her rambles and rides. With fear and trembling she allowed
me to take it into my hands. It was, or consisted of, the forefoot of
a sheep, cut off at the knee; on the top of the knee part a little
wooden ball wrapped in a white rag represented the head, and it was
dressed in a piece of red flannel--a satyr-like doll, with one hairy
leg and a cloven foot. I praised its pleasing countenance, its pretty
gown and dainty little boots; and all I said sounded very precious to
Anita, filling her with emotions of the liveliest pleasure.

"And do you never play with the dogs and cats and little lambs?" I
asked.

"Not with the dogs and cats. When I see a very little lamb asleep I
get down and go softly, softly and catch it. It tries to get away;
then I put my finger in its mouth, and it sucks, and sucks; then it
runs away."

"And what do you like best to eat?"

"Sugar. When uncle buys sugar, aunt gives me a lump. I make doll eat
some, and bite off one small piece and put it in pony's mouth."

"Which would you rather have, Anita--a great many lumps of sugar, or
a beautiful string of beads, or a little girl to play with?"

This question was rather too much for her neglected little brain, which
had fed itself with such simple fare; so I was obliged to put it in
various ways, and at last, when she understood that only one of the
three things could be chosen, she decided in favour of a little girl
to play with.

Then I asked her if she liked to hear stories; this also puzzled her,
and after some cross-questioning I discovered that she had never heard
a story, and did not know what it meant.

"Listen, Anita, and I will tell you a story," I said. "Have you seen
the white mist over the Yí in the morning--a light, white mist that
flies away when the sun gets hot?"

Yes, she often saw the white mist in the morning, she told me.

"Then I will tell you a story about the white mist and a little girl
named Alma."

"Little Alma lived close to the River Yí, but far, far from here,
beyond the trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yí is a very long
river. She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big
tall men with long beards; and they always talked about wars, and
cattle, and horse-racing, and a great many other important things that
Alma could not understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for
Alma to talk to or to play with. And when she went out of the house
where all the big people were talking, she heard the cocks crowing,
the dogs barking, the birds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees
rustling their leaves over her head, and she could not understand one
word of all they said. At last, having no one to play with or talk to,
she sat down and began to cry. Now, it happened that near the spot
where she sat there was an old black woman wearing a red shawl, who
was gathering sticks for the fire, and she asked Alma why she cried.

"'Because I have no one to talk to and play with,' said Alma. Then the
old black woman drew a long brass pin out of her shawl and pricked
Alma's tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be pricked.

"'Now,' said the old woman, 'you can go and play and talk with the
dogs, cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say,
and they will understand all you say.'

"Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to the
cat.

"'Come, cat, let us talk and play together,' she said.

"'Oh no,' said the cat. 'I am very busy watching a little bird, so you
must go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.'

"Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs also
refused to play when she went to them; for they had to watch the house
and bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play with
little Niebla down by the river. Then Alma ran out and caught a little
duckling, a soft little thing that looked like a ball of yellow cotton,
and said:

"'Now, little duck, let us talk and play.'

"But the duckling only struggled to get away and screamed, 'Oh, mamma,
mamma, come and take me away from Alma!'

"Then the old duck came rushing up, and said:

"'Alma, let my child alone: and if you want to play, go and play with
Niebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in your
hands--what next, I wonder!'

"So she let the duckling go, and at last she said, 'Yes, I will go and
play with Niebla down by the river.'

"She waited till she saw the white mist, and then ran all the way to
the Yí, and stood still on the green bank close by the water with the
white mist all round her. By and by she saw a beautiful little child
come flying towards her in the white mist. The child came and stood
on the green bank and looked at Alma. Very, very pretty she was; and
she wore a white dress--whiter than milk, whiter than foam, and all
embroidered with purple flowers; she had also white silk stockings,
and scarlet shoes, bright as scarlet verbenas. Her hair was long and
fluffy, and shone like gold, and round her neck she had a string of
big gold beads. Then Alma said, 'Oh, beautiful little girl, what is
your name?' to which the little girl answered:

"'Niebla.'

"'Will you talk to me and play with me?' said Alma.

"'Oh, no,' said Niebla, 'how can I play with a little girl dressed as
you are and with bare feet?'

"For you know poor Alma only wore a little old frock that came down
to her knees, and she had no shoes and stockings on. Then little Niebla
rose up and floated away, away from the bank and down the river, and
at last, when she was quite out of sight in the white mist, Alma began
to cry. When it got very hot she went and sat down, still crying, under
the trees; there were two very big willow-trees growing near the river.
By and by the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees began talking
to each other, and Alma understood everything they said.

"'Is it going to rain, do you think?' said one tree.

"'Yes, I think it will--some day,' said the other.

"'There are no clouds,' said the first tree.

"'No, there are no clouds to-day, but there were some the day before
yesterday,' said the other.

"'Have you got any nests in your branches?' said the first tree.

"'Yes, one,' said the other. 'It was made by a little yellow bird, and
there are five speckled eggs in it.'

"Then the first tree said, 'There is little Alma sitting in our shade;
do you know why she is crying, neighbour?'

"The other tree answered, 'Yes, it is because she has no one to play
with. Little Niebla by the river refused to play with her because she
is not beautifully dressed.'

"Then the first tree said, 'Ah, she ought to go and ask the fox for
some pretty clothes to wear. The fox always keeps a great store of
pretty things in her hole.'

"Alma had listened to every word of this conversation. She remembered
that a fox lived on the hillside not far off; for she had often seen
it sitting in the sunshine with its little ones playing round it and
pulling their mother's tail in fun. So Alma got up and ran till she
found the hole, and, putting her head down it, she cried out, 'Fox!
Fox!' But the fox seemed cross, and only answered, without coming out,
'Go away, Alma, and talk to little Niebla. I am busy getting dinner
for my children and have no time to talk to you now.'

"Then Alma cried, 'Oh, Fox, Niebla will not play with me because I
have no pretty things to wear. Oh, Fox, will you give me a nice dress
and shoes and stockings and a string of beads?'

"After a little while the fox came out of its hole with a big bundle
done up in a red cotton handkerchief and said, 'Here are the things,
Alma, and I hope they will fit you. But you know, Alma, you really
ought not to come at this time of day, for I am very busy just now
cooking the dinner--an armadillo roasted and a couple of partridges
stewed with rice, and a little omelette of turkeys' eggs. I mean
plovers' eggs, of course; I never touch turkeys' eggs.'

"Alma said she was very sorry to give so much trouble.

"'Oh, never mind,' said the fox. 'How is your grandmother?'

"'She is very well, thank you,' said Alma, 'but she has a bad headache.'

"'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the fox. 'Tell her to stick two
fresh dock-leaves on her temples, and to drink a little weak tea made
of knot-grass, and on no account to go out in the hot sun. I should
like to go and see her, only I do not like the dogs being always about
the house. Give her my best respects. And now run home, Alma, and try
on the things, and when you are passing this way you can bring me back
the handkerchief, as I always tie my face up in it when I have the
toothache.'

"Alma thanked the fox very much and ran home as fast as she could, and
when the bundle was opened she found in it a beautiful white dress,
embroidered with purple flowers, a pair of scarlet shoes, silk
stockings, and a string of great golden beads. They all fitted her
very well; and next day when the white mist was on the Yí she dressed
herself in her beautiful clothes and went down to the river. By and
by little Niebla came flying along, and when she saw Alma she came and
kissed her and took her by the hand. All the morning they played and
talked together, gathering flowers and running races over the green
sward: and at last Niebla bade her good-bye and flew away, for all the
white mist was floating off down the river. But every day after that
Alma found her little companion by the Yí, and was very happy, for now
she had someone to talk to and to play with."

After I had finished the story Anita continued gazing into my face
with an absorbed expression in her large, wistful eyes. She seemed
half scared, half delighted at what she had heard; but presently,
before the little thing had said a word, Monica, who had been directing
shy and wondering glances towards us for some time, came, and, taking
her by the hand, led her away to bed. I was getting sleepy then, and,
as the clatter of talk and warlike preparation showed no signs of
abating, I was glad to be shown into another room, where some
sheep-skins, rugs, and a couple of _ponchos_ were given to me for
a bed.

During the night all the men took their departure, for in the morning,
when I went into the kitchen, I only found the old woman and Alday's
wife sipping bitter _maté_. The child, they informed me, had
disappeared from the house an hour before, and Monica had gone out to
look for her. Alday's wife was highly indignant at the little one's
escapade, for it was high time for Anita to go out with the flock.
After taking _maté_ I went out, and, looking towards the Yí, veiled in a
silvery mist, I spied Monica leading the culprit home by
the hand, and went to meet them. Poor little Anita! her face stained
with tears, her little legs and feet covered with clay and scratched
by sharp reeds in fifty places, her dress soaking wet with the heavy
mist, looked a most pitiful object.

"Where did you find her?" I asked the girl, beginning to fear that I
had been the indirect cause of the poor child's misfortunes.

"Down by the river looking for little Niebla. I knew she would be there
when I missed her this morning."

"How did you know that?" I asked. "You did not hear the story I told
her."

"I made her repeat it all to me last night," said Monica.

After that little Anita was scolded, shaken, washed and dried, then
fed, and finally lifted on to the back of her pony and sent to take
care of the sheep. While undergoing this treatment she maintained a
profound silence, her little face puckered up into an expression that
boded tears. They were not for the public, however, and only after she
was on the pony, with the reins in her little mites of hands and her
back towards us, did she give way to her grief and disappointment at
having failed to find the beautiful child of the mist.

I was astonished to find that she had taken the fantastic little tale
invented to amuse her as truth; but the poor babe had never read books
or heard stories, and the fairy tale had been too much for her starved
little imagination. I remember that once on another occasion I told
a pathetic story of a little child, lost in a great wilderness, to a
girl about Anita's age, and just as unaccustomed to this kind of mental
fare. Next morning her mother informed me that my little listener had
spent half the night sobbing and begging to be allowed to go and look
for that lost child I had told her about.

Hearing that Alday would not return till evening or till the following
day, I asked his wife to lend or give me a horse to proceed on my
journey. This, however, she could not do; then she added, very
graciously, that while all the men were away my presence in the house
would be a comfort to her, a man always being a great protection. The
arrangement did not strike me as one very advantageous to myself, but,
as I could not journey very well to Montevideo on foot, I was compelled
to sit still and wait for Alday's return.

It was dull work talking to those two women in the kitchen. They were
both great talkers, and had evidently come to a tacit agreement to
share their one listener fairly between them, for first one, then the
other would speak with a maddening monotony. Alday's wife had six
favourite, fine-sounding words--_elements, superior, division,
prolongation, justification,_ and _disproportion_. One of these
she somehow managed to drag into every sentence, and sometimes she
succeeded in getting in two. Whenever this happened the achievement
made her so proud that she would in the most deliberate cold-blooded
way repeat the sentence again, word for word. The strength of the old
woman lay in dates. Not an occurrence did she mention, whether it
referred to some great public event or to some trivial domestic incident
in her own _rancho_, without giving the year, the month, and the
day. The duet between these two confounded barrel-organs, one grinding
out rhetoric, the other chronology, went on all the morning, and often
I turned to Monica, sitting over her sewing, in hopes of a different
tune from her more melodious instrument, but in vain, for never a word
dropped from those silent lips. Occasionally her dark, luminous eyes
were raised for a moment, only to sink abashed again when they
encountered mine. After breakfast I went for a walk along the river,
where I spent several hours hunting for flowers and fossils, and amusing
myself as best I could. There were legions of duck, coot, rosy
spoonbills, and black-necked swans disporting themselves in the water,
and I was very thankful that I had no gun with me, and so was not
tempted to startle them with rude noises, and send any of them away
to languish wounded amongst the reeds. At length, after having indulged
in a good swim, I set out to walk back to the _estancia_.

When still about a mile from the house as I walked on, swinging my
stick and singing aloud in lightness of heart, I passed a clump of
willow-trees, and, looking up, saw Monica under them watching my
approach. She was standing perfectly motionless, and, when I caught
sight of her, cast her eyes demurely down, apparently to contemplate
her bare feet, which looked very white on the deep green turf. In one
hand she held a cluster of stalks of the large, crimson, autumnal
lilies which had just begun to blossom. My singing ceased suddenly,
and I stood for some moments gazing admiringly at the shy, rustic
beauty.

"What a distance you have walked to gather lilies, Monica!" I said,
approaching her. "Will you give me one of your stalks?"

"They were gathered for the Virgin, so I cannot give away any of these,"
she replied. "If you will wait here under the trees I will find one
to give you."

I agreed to wait for her; then, placing the cluster she had gathered
on the grass, she left me. Before long she returned with a stalk,
round, polished, slender, like a pipe-stem, and crowned with its cluster
of three splendid crimson flowers.

When I had sufficiently thanked her and admired it, I said, "What boon
are you going to ask from the Virgin, Monica, when you offer her these
flowers--safety for your lover in the wars?"

"No, señor; I have no offering to make, and no boon to ask. They are
for my aunt; I offered to gather them for her, because--I wished to
meet you here."

"To meet me, Monica--what for?"

"To ask for a story, señor," she replied, colouring and with a shy
glance at my face.

"Ah, we have had stories enough," I said. "Remember poor Anita running
away this morning to look for a playmate in the wet mist."

"She is a child; I am a woman."

"Then, Monica, you must have a lover who will be jealous if you listen
to stories from a stranger's lips in this lonely spot."

"No person will ever know that I met you here," she returned--so
bashful, yet so persistent.

"I have forgotten all my stories," I said.

"Then, señor, I will go and find you another _ramo_ of lilies
while you think of one to tell me."

"No," I said, "you must get no more lilies for me. Look, I will give
you back these you gave me." And, saying that, I fastened them in her
black hair, where by contrast they looked very splendid, and gave the
girl a new grace. "Ah, Monica, they make you look too pretty--let me
take them out again."

But she would not have them taken. "I will leave you now to think of
a story for me," she said, blushing and turning away.

Then I took her hands and made her face me. "Listen, Monica," I said.
"Do you know that these lilies are full of strange magic? See how
crimson they are; that is the colour of passion, for they have been
steeped in passion, and turn my heart to fire. If you bring me any
more of them, Monica, I shall tell you a story that will make you
tremble with fear--tremble like the willow-leaves and turn pale as the
mist over the Yí."

She smiled at my words; it was like a ray of sunlight falling through
the foliage on her face. Then, in a voice that was almost a whisper,
she said, "What will the story be about, señor? Tell me, then I shall
know whether to gather lilies for you or not."

"It will be about a stranger meeting a sweet, pale girl standing under
the trees, her dark eyes cast down, and red lilies in her hand; and
how she asked him for a story, but he could speak to her of nothing
but love, love, love."

When I finished speaking she gently withdrew her hands from mine and
turned away amongst the trees, doubtless to fly from me, trembling at
my words, like a frightened young fawn from the hunter.

So for a moment I thought. But no, there lay the lilies gathered for
a religious purpose at my feet, and there was nothing reproachful in
the shy, dark eyes when they glanced back for a moment at me; for, in
spite of those warning words, she had only gone to find more of those
perilous crimson flowers to give me.

Not then, while I waited for her return with palpitating heart, but
afterwards in calmer moments, and when Monica had become a pretty
picture in the past, did I compose the following lines. I am not so
vain as to believe that they possess any great poetical merit, and
introduce them principally to let the reader know how to pronounce the
pretty name of that Oriental river, which it still keeps in remembrance
of a vanished race.

    Standing silent, pale her face was,
      Pale and sweet to see:
    'Neath the willows waiting for me,
      Willow-like was she,
    Smiling, blushing, trembling, bashful
      Maid of Yí.

    Willow-like she trembled, yet she
      Never fled from me;
    But her dove-like eyes were downcast,
      On the grass to see
    White feet standing: white thy feet were,
      Maid of Yí.

    Stalks of lilies in her hands were:
      Crimson lilies three,
    Placed I in her braids of black hair--
      They were bright to see!
    Lift thy dark eyes, for I love thee,
      Maid of Yí!




CHAPTER XV


In the evening Alday returned with a couple of his friends, and, as
soon as an opportunity offered, I took him aside and begged him to let
me have a horse to continue my journey to Montevideo. He answered
evasively that the horse I had lost in the neighbouring forest would
probably be recovered in the course of two or three days. I replied
that if he would let me have a horse, the one I had lost, together
with saddle, _poncho_, etc., could be claimed by him whenever
they turned up. He then said that he could not very well give me ahorse,
"with saddle and bridle also." It looked as if he wanted to
keep me in his house for some purpose of his own, and this made me all
the more determined to leave it immediately, in spite of the tender,
reproachful glances which Monica flashed on me from under her long,
drooping eyelashes. I told him that if I could not have a horse I would
leave his _estancia_ on foot. That rather put him in a corner;
for in this country, where horse-stealing and cheating at cards are
looked on as venial offenses, to let a man leave your _estancia_
on foot is considered a very dishonourable thing. He pondered over my
declaration for some minutes, then, after conferring with his friends,
he promised to provide me with all I required next day. I had heard
nothing more about the revolution, but after supper Alday suddenly
became very confidential, and said that the whole country would be up
in arms in the course of a very few days, and that it would be highly
dangerous for me to attempt travelling by myself to the capital. He
expatiated on the immense prestige of General Santa Coloma, who had
just taken up arms against the Colorado party then in power, and
concluded by saying that my safest plan would be to join the rebels,
and accompany them on their march to Montevideo which would begin
almost immediately. I replied that I took no interest in the dissensions
of the Banda Orientál, and did not wish to compromise myself by joining
a military expedition of any kind. He shrugged his shoulders, and,
renewing his promise of a horse next day, retired to rest.

On rising next morning I found that the others were already up. The
horses were standing saddled at the door, and Alday, pointing out a
very fair-looking animal, informed me that it had been saddled for me,
and then added that he and his friends would ride one or two leagues
with me to put me on the right road to Montevideo. He had suddenly
become almost too kind, but in the simplicity of my heart I believed
that he was only making amends for the slight inhospitality of the day
before.

After partaking of bitter _maté_, I thanked my hostess, looked
my last into Monica's dark, sorrowful eyes, lifted for one moment to
mine, and kissed little Anita's pathetic face, by so doing filling the
child with astonishment and causing considerable amusement to the other
members of the family. After we had ridden about four miles, keeping
nearly parallel with the river, it struck me that we were not going
in the right direction--the right one for me, at any rate. I therefore
checked my horse and told my companions that I would not trouble them
to ride with me any further.

"My friend," said Alday, approaching me, "you will, if you leave us
now, infallibly fall into the hands of some _partida_, who, finding
you without a passport, will take you to El Molino, or to some other
centre. Though it would make no difference if you had a passport, for
they would only tear it up and take you all the same. In these
circumstances it is your safest plan to go with us to El Molino, where
General Santa Coloma is collecting his forces, and you will then be
able to explain your position to him."

"I refuse to go to El Molino," I said angrily, exasperated at his
treachery.

"You will then compel us to take you there," he returned.

I had no wish to become a prisoner again so soon, and, seeing that a
bold stroke was necessary to keep my liberty, I suddenly reined up my
horse and drew my revolver. "My friends," I said, "your road lies inthat
direction; mine in this. I wish you good morning."

I had scarcely finished speaking before a blow of a heavy whip-handle
descended on my arm below the elbow, almost breaking it, and sending
me off my horse, while the revolver went spinning away a dozen yards.
The blow had been dealt by one of Alday's two followers, who had just
dropped a little to the rear, and the rascal certainly showed a
marvellous quickness and dexterity in disabling me.

Wild with rage and pain, I scrambled to my feet, and, drawing my knife,
threatened to stab the first man who approached me; and then, in
unmeasured language, I abused Alday for his cowardice and brutality.
He only smiled and replied that he considered my youth, and therefore
felt no resentment against me for using such intemperate words.

"And now, my friend," he continued, after picking up my revolver and
remounting his horse, "let us waste no more time, but hasten on to El
Molino, where you can state your case to the General."

As I did not wish to be tied on to my horse and carried in that
unpleasant and ignominious manner, I had to obey. Climbing into the
saddle with some difficulty, we set out towards the village of El
Molino at a swinging gallop. The rough motion of the horse I rode
increased the pain in my arm till it became intolerable; then one of
the men mercifully bound it up in a sling, after which I was able to
travel more comfortably, though still suffering a great deal.

The day was excessively warm, and we did not reach our destination
till about three o'clock in the afternoon. Just before entering the
town we rode through a little army of gauchos encamped on the adjacent
plain. Some of them were engaged cooking meat, others were saddling
horses, while others, in bodies of twenty or thirty, were going through
cavalry exercises, the whole making a scene of wonderful animation.
Very nearly all the men wore the ordinary gaucho costume, and those
who were exercising carried lances, to which were attached little
white, fluttering bannerets. Passing through the encampment, we
clattered into the town, composed of about seventy or eighty houses
of stone or mud, some thatched, others with tiled roofs, and every
house with a large garden attached to it. At the official building
facing the plaza a guard of ten men, armed with carbines, was stationed.
We dismounted and went into the building, only to hear that the General
had just left the town, and was not expected back till the following
day.

Alday spoke to an officer sitting at a table in the room we were shown
into, addressing him as Major. He was a thin, elderly man, with calm
grey eyes and a colourless face, and looked like a gentleman. After
hearing a few words from Alday, he turned to me and said courteously
that he was sorry to tell me I should have to remain in El Molino till
the General's return, when I could give an account of myself to him.

"We do not," he said in conclusion, "wish to compel any foreigner, or
any Oriental even, to join our forces; but we are naturally suspicious
of strangers, having already caught two or three spies in the
neighbourhood. Unfortunately you are not provided with a passport, and
it is best that the General should see you."

"Sir officer," I replied, "by ill-treating and detaining an Englishman
you are doing your cause no good."

He answered that he was grieved that his people had found it necessary
to treat me roughly, for he put it in that mild way. Everything, he
said, short of liberating me, would be done to make my sojourn in El
Molino pleasant.

"If it is necessary that the General should see me himself before I
can have my liberty, pray let these men take me to him at once," I
said.

"He has not yet left El Molino," said an orderly, standing in the room.

"He is at the end of the town at the Casa Blanca, and does not leave
till half-past three."

"It is nearly that now," said the officer, consulting his watch. "Take
him to the General at once, Lieutenant Alday."

I thanked the officer, who had looked and spoken so unlike a
revolutionary bandit, and, as soon as I had succeeded in clambering
on to my horse, we were once more dashing along the main street at a
fast gallop. We drew up before a large, old-looking stone house at the
end of the town, standing some distance back from the road, and screened
from it by a double row of tall Lombardy poplars. The back of the house
was towards the road, and, passing round to the front after leaving
our horses at the gate, we entered a spacious _patio_, or yard.
Running along the front of the dwelling was a wide corridor, supported
by wooden pillars, painted white, while the whole of the _patio_
was shaded by an immense grape-vine. This was evidently one of the
best houses in the place, and, coming directly from the glaring sun
and the white, dusty road, the vine-shaded _patio_ and corridor
looked delightfully cool and inviting. A gay company of twelve or
fifteen people were gathered under the corridor, some sipping
_maté_, others sucking grapes; and when we came on the scene a
young lady was just finishing a song she was singing. I at once singled
out General Santa Coloma, sitting by the young lady with the guitar--a
tall, imposing man, with somewhat irregular features, and a bronzed,
weather-beaten face. He was booted and spurred, and over his uniform
wore a white silk _poncho_ with purple fringe. I judged from his
countenance that he was not a stern or truculent man, as one expects
a Caudillo--a leader of men--in the Banda Orientál to be: and,
remembering that in a few minutes he would be leaving the house, I was
anxious to push forward and state my case to him. The others, however,
prevented me, for the General just then happened to be engaged in a
vivacious conversation with the young lady sitting by him. When I had
once looked attentively at this girl I had eyes for no other face
there. The type was Spanish, and I have never seen a more perfect face
of the kind; a wealth of blue-black hair shading the low, broad
forehead, straight nose, dark, luminous eyes, and crimson, pouting
lips. She was tall, perfect in her figure as in her face, and wore a
white dress with a deep red China rose on her bosom for only ornament.
Standing there unnoticed at the end of the corridor, I gazed with a
kind of fascination on her, listening to her light, rippling laughter
and lively talk, watching her graceful gestures, her sparkling eyes,
and damask cheeks flushed with excitement. Here is a woman, I thought
with a sigh--I felt a slight twinge at that disloyal sigh--I could
have worshipped. She was pressing the guitar on the General.

"You have promised to sing one song before you go, and I cannot let
you off," she exclaimed.

At length he took the instrument, protesting that his voice was a very
bad one; then, sweeping the strings, began that fine old Spanish song
of love and war:

  "_Cuando suena la trompa guerrera_."

His voice was uncultivated and somewhat harsh, but there was a good
deal of fire and expression in the performance, and it was rapturously
applauded.

The moment the song was over he handed her back the guitar, and,
starting up hastily, bade the company adieu, and turned to go.

Coming forward, I placed myself before him and began to speak.

"I am pressed for time and cannot listen to you now," he said quickly,
scarcely glancing at me. "You are a prisoner--wounded, I see; well,
when I return--" Suddenly he stopped, caught hold of my wounded arm,
and said, "How did you get hurt? Tell me quickly."

His sharp, impatient manner, and the sight of twenty people all standing
round staring at me, quite upset me, and I could only stammer out a
few unintelligible words, feeling that my face was blushing scarlet
to the very roots of my hair.

"Let me tell you, General," said Alday, advancing.

"No, no," said the General; "he shall speak."

The sight of Alday so eager to give his version of the affair first
restored my anger to me, and with that came back the power of speech
and the other faculties which I had lost for a moment.

"Sir General, all I have to say is this," I said; "I came to this man's
house at night, a stranger, lost, on foot, for my horse had been stolen
from me. I asked him for shelter in the belief that at least the one
virtue of hospitality still survives in this country. He, assisted by
these two men, treacherously disabled me with a blow on my arm and
dragged me here a prisoner."

"My good friend," said the General, "I am extremely sorry that you
have been hurt through an excess of zeal on the part of one of my
people. But I can scarcely regret this incident, painful as it seems,
since it enables me to assure you that one other virtue besides
hospitality still survives in the Banda Orientál--I mean gratitude."

"I do not understand you," I said.

"We were companions in misfortune a very short time ago," he returned.
"Have you forgotten the service you did me then?"

I stared at him, astonished at his words; and while I looked into his
face, suddenly that scene at the magistrate's _estancia_, when
I went with the key to let my fellow-traveller out of the stocks, and
he jumped up and seized my hand, flashed on me. Still I was not quite
sure, and half whispered tentatively, "What, Marcos Marcó?"

"Yes," he returned, smiling, "that was my name at that moment. My
friends," he continued, resting a hand on my shoulder, and speaking
to the others, "I have met this young Englishman before. A few days
ago, when I was on my way hither, I was arrested at Las Cuevas in his
company; it was by means of his assistance that I succeeded in making
my escape. He did this good deed, believing at the time that he was
helping a poor peasant, and not expecting any return."

I might have reminded him that only after he had given me a solemn
assurance that he did not intend attempting to make his escape, did
I consent to get his legs out of the stocks. However, as he thought
proper to forget that part of the affair I was not going to recall it
to him.

There were many surprised exclamations from the bystanders, and,
glancing at that beautiful girl, who was standing near with the others,
I found her dark eyes fixed on my face with an expression of tenderness
and sympathy in them that sent the blood rushing to my heart.

"They have hurt you badly, I fear," said the General, addressing me
again. "To continue your journey now would be imprudent. Let me beg
of you to remain where you are, in this house, till your arm is better."
Then, turning to the young lady, he said, "Dolores, will you and your
mother take charge of my young friend till I return, and see that his
injured arm is attended to?"

"My General, you will make us happy by leaving him in our care," she
replied, with a bright smile.

He then introduced me as Don Ricardo simply--for he did not know my
surname--to the lovely señorita, Dolores Zelaya; after which he again
bade us adieu and hurried away.

When he had gone, Alday advanced, hat in hand, and gave me back my
revolver, which I had forgotten all about. I took it with my left hand,
and put it in my pocket. He then apologised for having treated me
roughly--the Major had taught him that word--but without the faintest
trace of servility in his speech or manner; and after that he offered
me his hand.

"Which will you have," I said, "the hand you have injured or the left
hand?"

He immediately dropped his own hand to his side, then, bowing, said
he would wait till I had recovered the use of my right hand. Turning
to go, he added with a smile that he hoped the injury would soon heal,
so that I would be able to wield a sword in my friend Santa Coloma's
cause.

His manner, I thought, was a little too independent. "Pray take back
your horse now," I said, "as I have no further use for it, and accept
my thanks for conducting me thus far on my journey."

"Do not mention it," he replied, with a dignified wave of his hand.
"I am pleased to have been able to render you this small service."




CHAPTER XVI


When Alday had left us, the charming señorita, in whose care I was
well pleased to find myself, led me into a cool, spacious room, dimly
lighted, scantily furnished, and with a floor of red tiles. It was a
great relief to drop into a sofa there, for I now felt fatigued and
suffered great pain from my arm. In a few moments I had the señorita,
her mother, Doña Mercedes, and an old serving-woman all round me.
Gently drawing off my coat, they subjected my wounded arm to a minute
examination; their compassionate finger-tips--those of the lovely
Dolores especially--feeling like a soft, cooling rain on the swollen,
inflamed part, which had become quite purple.

"Ah, how barbarous of them to hurt you like that! a friend, too, of
our General!" exclaimed my beautiful nurse; which made me think that
I had involuntarily become associated with the right political party
in the State.

They rubbed the arm with sweet oil; while the old servant brought in
a bundle of rue from the garden, which, being bruised in a mortar,
filled the room with a fresh, aromatic smell. With this fragrant herb
she made a cooling cataplasm. Having dressed my arm, they placed it
in a sling, then in place of my coat a light Indian _poncho_ was
brought for me to wear.

"I think you are feverish," said Doña Mercedes, feeling my pulse. "We
must send for the doctor--we have a doctor in our little town, a very
skilful man."

"I have little faith in doctors, señora," I said, "but great faith in
women and grapes. If you will give me a cluster from your vine to
refresh my blood I promise to be well very soon."

Dolores laughed lightly and left the room, only to return in a few
minutes with a dish full of ripe, purple clusters. They were delicious,
and did seem to allay the fever I felt, which had probably been caused
as much by angry passions as by the blow I had received.

While I reclined luxuriously, sucking my grapes, the two ladies sat
on each side of me, ostensibly fanning themselves, but only, I think,
trying to make the air cooler for me. Very cool and pleasant they made
it, certainly, but the gentle attentions of Dolores were at the same
time such as might well create a subtler kind of fever in a man's
veins--a malady not to be cured by fruit, fans, or phlebotomy.

"Who would not suffer blows for such compensation as this!" I said.

"Do not say such a thing!" exclaimed the señorita, with wonderful
animation. "Have you not rendered a great service to our dear
General--to our beloved country! If we had it in our power to give you
everything your heart might desire it would be nothing, nothing. We
must be your debtors for ever."

I smiled at her extravagant words, but they were very sweet to hear,
none the less.

"Your ardent love of your country is a beautiful sentiment," I remarked
somewhat indiscreetly, "but is General Santa Coloma so necessary to
its welfare?"

She looked offended and did not reply. "You are a stranger in our
country, señor, and do not quite understand these things," said the
mother gently. "Dolores must not forget that. You know nothing of the
cruel wars we have seen and how our enemies have conquered only by
bringing in the foreigner to their aid. Ah, señor, the bloodshed, the
proscriptions, the infamies which they have brought on this land! But
there is one man they have never yet succeeded in crushing: always
from boyhood he has been foremost in the fight, defying their bullets,
and not to be corrupted by their Brazilian gold. Is it strange that
he is so much to us, who have lost all our relations, and have suffered
many persecutions, being deprived almost of the means of subsistence
that hirelings and traitors might be enriched with our property? To
us in this house he is even more than to others. He was my husband's
friend and companion in arms. He has done us a thousand favours, and if
he ever succeeds in overthrowing this infamous government he will restore
to us all the property we have lost. But _ai de mi_, I cannot see
deliverance yet."

"_Mamita,_ do not say such a thing!" exclaimed her daughter. "Do
you begin to despair now when there is most reason to hope?"

"Child, what can he do with this handful of ill-armed men?" returned
the mother sadly. "He has bravely raised the standard, but the people
do not flock to it. Ah, when this revolt is crushed, like so many
others, we poor women will only have to lament for more friends slain
and fresh persecutions." And here she covered her eyes with her
handkerchief.

Dolores tossed her head back and made a sudden gesture of impatience.

"Do you, then, expect to see a great army formed before the ink is dry
on the General's proclamation? When Santa Coloma was a fugitive without
a follower you hoped; now when he is with us, and actually preparing
for a march on the capital, you begin to lose heart--I cannot understand
it!"

Doña Mercedes rose without replying, and left the room. The lovely
enthusiast dropped her head on her hand, and remained silent, taking
no notice of me, a cloud of sorrow on her countenance.

"Señorita," I said, "it is not necessary for you to remain longer here.
Only tell me before going that you forgive me, for it makes me very
unhappy to think that I have offended you."

She turned to me with a very bright smile and gave me her hand.

"Ah, it is for you to forgive me for hastily taking offence at a light
word," she said. "I must not allow anything you say in future to spoil
my gratitude. Do you know I think you are one of those who like to
laugh at most things, señor--no, let me call you Richard, and you shall
call me Dolores, for we must remain friends always. Let us make a
compact, then it will be impossible for us to quarrel. You shall be
free to doubt, question, laugh at everything, except one thing only--my
faith in Santa Coloma."

"Yes, I will gladly make that agreement," I replied. "It will be a new
kind of paradise, and of the fruit of every tree I may eat except of
this tree only."

She laughed gaily.

"I will now leave you," she said. "You are suffering pain, and are
very tired. Perhaps you will be able to sleep." While speaking she
brought a second cushion for my head, then left me, and before long
I fell into a refreshing doze.

I spent three days of enforced idleness at the Casa Blanca, as the
house was called, before Santa Coloma returned, and after the rough
experience I had undergone, during which I had subsisted on a flesh
diet untempered by bread or vegetables, they were indeed like days
spent in paradise to me. Then the General came back. I was sitting
alone in the garden when he arrived, and, coming out to me, he greeted
me warmly.

"I greatly feared from my previous experience of your impatience under
restraint that you might have left us," he said kindly.

"I could not do that very well yet, without a horse to ride on," I
returned.

"Well, I came here just now to say I wish to present you with a horse
and saddle. The horse is standing at the gate now, I believe; but, if
you are only waiting for a horse to leave us I shall have to regret
making you this present. Do not be in a hurry; you have yet many years
to live in which to accomplish all you wish to do, and let us have the
pleasure of your company a few days longer. Doña Mercedes and her
daughter desire nothing better than to keep you with them."

I promised him not to run away immediately, a promise which was not
hard to make; then we went to inspect my horse, which proved to be a
very fine bay, saddled with a dashing native _recado_.

"Come with me and try him," he said. "I am going to ride out to the
Cerro Solo."

The ride proved an extremely pleasant one, as I had not mounted a horse
for some days, and had been longing to spice my idle hours with a
little exhilarating motion. We went at a swinging gallop over the
grassy plain, the General all the time discoursing freely of his plans
and of the brilliant prospects awaiting all those timely-wise
individuals who should elect to link their fortunes with his at this
early stage of the campaign.

The Cerro, three leagues distant from the village of El Molino, was
a high, conical hill standing quite alone and overlooking the country
for a vast distance around. A few well-mounted men were stationed on
the summit, keeping watch; and, after talking with them for a while,
the General led me to a spot a hundred yards away, where there was a
large mound of sand and stone, up which we made our horses climb with
some difficulty. While we stood here he pointed out the conspicuous
objects on the surface of the surrounding country, telling me the names
of the _estancias_, rivers, distant hills, and other things. The
whole country about us seemed very familiar to him. He ceased speaking
at length, but continued gazing over the wide, sunlit prospect with
a strange, far-off look on his face. Suddenly dropping the reins on
the neck of his horse, he stretched out his arms towards the south and
began to murmur words which I could not catch, while an expression of
mingled fury and exultation transformed his face. It passed away as
suddenly as it came. Then he dismounted, and, stooping till his knee
touched the ground, he kissed the rock before him, after which he sat
down and quietly invited me to do the same. Returning to the subject
he had talked about during our ride, he began openly pressing me to
join him in his march to Montevideo, which, he said, would begin almost
immediately, and would infallibly result in a victory, after which he
would reward me for the incalculable service I had rendered him in
assisting him to escape from the Juez of Las Cuevas. These tempting
offers, which would have fired my brain in other circumstances--the
single state, I mean--I felt compelled to decline, though I did not
state my real reasons for doing so. He shrugged his shoulders in the
eloquent Oriental fashion, remarking that it would not surprise him
if I altered my resolution in a few days.

"Never!" I mentally ejaculated.

Then he recalled our first meeting again, spoke of Margarita, that
marvellously beautiful child, asking if I had not thought it strange
so fair a flower as that should have sprung from the homely stalk of
a sweet potato? I answered that I had been surprised at first, but had
ceased to believe that she was a child of Batata's, or of any of his
kin. He then offered to tell me Margarita's history; and I was not
surprised to hear that he knew it.

"I owe you this," he said, "in expiation of the somewhat offensive
remarks I addressed to you that day in reference to the girl. But you
must remember that I was then only Marcos Marcó, a peasant, and, having
some slight knowledge of acting, it was only natural that my speech
should be, as you find it in our common people, somewhat dry and
ironical.

"Many years ago there lived in this country one Basilio de la Barca,
a person of so noble a figure and countenance that to all those who
beheld him he became the type of perfect beauty, so that a 'Basilio
de la Barca' came to be a proverbial expression in Montevidean society
when anyone surpassingly handsome was spoken of. Though he had a gay,
light-hearted disposition and loved social pleasures, he was not spoilt
by the admiration his beauty excited. Simple-minded and modest he
remained always; though perhaps not capable of any very strong passion,
for though he won, without seeking it, the hearts of many fair women,
he did not marry. He might have married some rich woman to improve his
position had he been so minded, but in this, as in everything else in
his life, Basilio appeared to be incapable of doing anything to advance
his own fortunes. The de la Barcas had once possessed great wealth in
land in the country, and, I have heard, descended from an ancient noble
family of Spain. During the long, disastrous wars this country has
suffered, when it was conquered in turn by England, Portugal, Spain,
Brazil, and the Argentines, the family became impoverished, and at
last appeared to be dying out. The last of the de la Barcas was Basilio,
and the evil destiny which had pursued all of that name for so many
generations did not spare him. His whole life was a series of
calamities. When young he entered the army, but in his first engagement
he received a terrible wound which disabled him for life and compelled
him to abandon the military career. After that he embarked all his
little fortune in commerce, and was ruined by a dishonest partner. At
length when he had been reduced to great poverty, being then about
forty years old, he married an old woman out of gratitude for the
kindness she had shown to him; and with her he went to live on the
sea-coast, several leagues east of Cabo Santa Maria. Here in a small
_rancho_ in a lonely spot called Barranca del Peregrine, and with
only a few sheep and cows to subsist on, he spent the remainder of his
life. His wife, though old, bore him one child, a daughter, named
Transita. They taught her nothing; for in all respects they lived like
peasants and had forgotten the use of books. The situation was also
wild and solitary, and they very seldom saw a strange face. Transita
spent her childhood in rambling over the dunes on that lonely coast,
with only wild flowers, birds, and the ocean waves for playmates. One
day, her age being then about eleven, she was at her usual pastimes,
her golden hair blowing in the wind, her short dress and bare legs wet
with the spray, chasing the waves as they retired, or flying with merry
shouts from them as they hurried back towards the shore, flinging a
cloud of foam over her retreating form, when a youth, a boy of fifteen,
rode up and saw her there. He was hunting ostriches, when, losing sight
of his companions, and finding himself near the ocean, he rode down
to the shore to watch the tide coming in.

"Yes, I was that boy, Richard--you are quick in making conclusions."
This he said not in reply to any remark I had made, but to my thoughts,
which he frequently guessed very aptly.

"The impression this exquisite child made on me it would be impossible
to convey in words. I had lived much in the capital, had been educated
in our best college, and was accustomed to associate with pretty women.
I had also crossed the water and had seen all that was most worthy of
admiration in the Argentine cities. And remember that with us a youth
of fifteen already knows something of life. This child, playing with
the waves, was like nothing I had seen before. I regarded her not as
a mere human creature; she seemed more like some being from I know not
what far-off celestial region who had strayed to earth, just as a bird
of white and azure plumage, and unknown to our woods, sometimes appears,
blown hither from a distant tropical country or island, filling those
who see it with wonder and delight. Imagine, if you can, Margarita
with her shining hair loose to the winds, swift and graceful in her
motions as the waves she plays with, her sapphire eyes sparkling like
sunlight on the waters, the tender tints of the sea-shell in her
ever-changing countenance, with a laughter that seems to echo the wild
melody of the sandpiper's note. Margarita has inherited the form, not
the spirit, of the child Transita. She is an exquisite statue endowed
with life. Transita, with lines equally graceful and colours just as
perfect, had caught the spirit of the wind and sunshine and was all
freedom, motion, fire--a being half human, half angelic. I saw her
only to love her; nor was it a common passion she inspired in me. I
worshipped her, and longed to wear her on my bosom; but I shrank then
and for a long time after from breathing the hot breath of love on so
tender and heavenly a blossom. I went to her parents and opened my
heart to them. My family being well known to Basilio, I obtained his
consent to visit their lonely _rancho_ whenever I could; and I,
on my part, promised not to speak of love to Transita till her sixteenth
year. Three years after I had found Transita, I was ordered to a distant
part of the country, for I was already in the army then, and, fearing
that it would not be possible for me to visit them for a long time,
I persuaded Basilio to let me speak to his daughter, who was now
fourteen. She had by this time grown extremely fond of me, and she
always looked forward with delight to my visits, when we would spend
days together rambling along the shore, or seated on some cliff
overlooking the sea, talking of the simple things she knew, and of
that wonderful, far-away city life of which she was never tired of
hearing. When I opened my heart to her she was at first frightened at
these new strange emotions I spoke of. Soon, however, I was made happy
by seeing her fear grow less. In one day she ceased to be a child; the
rich blood mantled her cheeks, to leave her the next moment pale and
tremulous; her tender lips were toying with the rim of the honeyed
cup. Before I left her she had promised me her hand, and at parting
even clung to me, with her beautiful eyes wet with tears.

"Three years passed before I returned to seek her. During that time
I sent scores of letters to Basilio, but received no reply. Twice I
was wounded in fight, once very seriously. I was also a prisoner for
several months. I made my escape at last, and, returning to Montevideo,
obtained leave of absence. Then, with heart afire with sweet
anticipations, I sought that lonely sea-coast once more, only to find
the weeds growing on the spot where Basilio's _rancho_ had stood.
In the neighbourhood I learnt that he had died two years before, and
that after his death the widow had returned to Montevideo with Transita.
After long inquiry in that city I discovered that she had not long
survived her husband, and that a foreign señora, had taken Transita
away, no one knew whither. Her loss cast a great shadow on my life.
Poignant grief cannot endure for ever, nor for very long; only the
memory of grief endures. To this memory, which cannot fade, it is
perhaps due that in one respect at least I am not like other men. I
feel that I am incapable of passion for any woman. No, not if a new
Lucrezia Borgia were to come my way, scattering the fiery seeds of
adoration upon all men, could they blossom to love in this arid heart.
Since I lost Transita I have had one thought, one love, one religion,
and it is all told in one word--_Patria_.

"Years passed. I was captain in General Oribe's army at the siege of
my own city. One day a lad was captured in our lines, and came very
near being put to death as a spy. He had come out from Montevideo, and
was looking for me. He had been sent, he said, by Transita de la Barca,
who was lying ill in the town, and desired to speak to me before she
died. I asked and obtained permission from our General, who had a
strong personal friendship for me, to penetrate into the town. This
was, of course, dangerous, and more so for me, perhaps, than it would
have been for many of my brother officers, for I was very well known
to the besieged. I succeeded, however, by persuading the officers of
a French sloop of war, stationed in the harbour, to assist me. These
foreigners at that time had friendly relations with the officers of
both armies, and three of them had at one time visited our General to
ask him to let them hunt ostriches in the interior. He passed them on
to me, and, taking them to my own _estancia_, I entertained them
and hunted with them for several days. For this hospitality they had
expressed themselves very grateful, inviting me repeatedly to visit
them on board, and also saying that they would gladly do me any personal
service in the town, which they visited constantly. I love not the
French, believing them to be the most vain and egotistical, consequently
the least chivalrous, of mankind; but these officers were in my debt,
and I resolved to ask them to help me. Under cover of night I went on
board their ship; I told them my story, and asked them to take me on
shore with them disguised as one of themselves. With some difficulty
they consented, and I was thus enabled next day to be in Montevideo
and with my long-lost Transita. I found her lying on her bed, emaciated
and white as death, in the last stage of some fatal pulmonary complaint.
On the bed with her was a child between two and three years old,
exceedingly beautiful like her mother, for one glance was sufficient
to tell me it was Transita's child. Overcome with grief at finding her
in this pitiful condition, I could only kneel at her side, pouring out
the last tender tears that have fallen from these eyes. We Orientals
are not tearless men, and I have wept since then, but only with rage
and hatred. My last tears of tenderness were shed over unhappy, dying
Transita.

"Briefly she told me her story. No letter from me had ever reached
Basilio; it was supposed that I had fallen in battle, or that my heart
had changed. When her mother lay dying in Montevideo she was visited
by a wealthy Argentine lady named Romero, who had heard of Transita's
singular beauty, and wished to see her merely out of curiosity. She
was so charmed with the girl that she offered to take her and bring
her up as her own daughter. To this the mother, who was reduced to the
greatest poverty and was dying, consented gladly. Transita was in this
way taken to Buenos Ayres, where she had masters to instruct her, and
lived in great splendour. The novelty of this life charmed her for a
time; the pleasures of a large city, and the universal admiration her
beauty excited, occupied her mind and made her happy. When she was
seventeen the Señora Romero bestowed her hand on a young man of that
city, named Andrada, a wealthy person. He was a fashionable man, a
gambler, and a Sybarite, and, having conceived a violent passion for
the girl, he succeeded in winning over the señora to aid his suit.
Before marrying him Transita told him frankly that she felt incapable
of great affection for him; he cared nothing for that, he only wished,
like the animal he was, to possess her for her beauty. Shortly after
marrying her he took her to Europe, knowing very well that a man with
a full purse, and whose spirit is a compound of swine and goat, finds
life pleasanter in Paris than in the Plata. In Paris Transita lived
a gay, but an unhappy life. Her husband's passion for her soon passed
away, and was succeeded by neglect and insult. After three miserable
years he abandoned her altogether to live with another woman, and then,
in broken health, she returned with her child to her own country. When
she had been several months in Montevideo she heard casually that I
was still alive and in the besieging army; and, anxious to impart her
last wishes to a friend, had sent for me.

"Could you, my friend, could any man, divine the nature of that dying
request Transita wished to make?

"Pointing to her child, she said, 'Do you not see that Margarita
inherits that fatal gift of beauty which won for me a life of splendour,
with extreme bitterness of heart and early death? Soon, before I die,
perhaps, there will not be wanting some new señora Romero to take
charge of her, who will at last sell her to some rich, cruel man, as
I was sold; for how can her beauty remain long concealed? It was with
very different views for her that I secretly left Paris and returned
here. During all the miserable years I spent there I thought more and
more of my childhood on that lonely coast, until, when I fell ill, I
resolved to go back there to spend my last days on that beloved spot
where I had been so happy. It was my intention to find some peasant
family there who would be willing to take Margarita and bring her up
as a peasant's child, with no knowledge of her father's position and
of the life men live in towns. The siege and my failing health made
it impossible for me to carry out that plan. I must die here, dear
friend, and never see that lonely coast where we have sat together so
often watching the waves. But I think only of poor little Margarita
now, who will soon be motherless: will you not help me to save her?
Promise me that you will take her away to some distant place, where
she will be brought up as a peasant's child, and where her father will
never find her. If you can promise me this, I will resign her to you
now, and face death without even the sad consolation of seeing her by
me to the last.'

"I promised to carry out her wishes, and also to see the child as often
as circumstances would allow, and when she grew up to find her a good
husband. But I would not deprive her of the child then. I told her
that if she died, Margarita would be conveyed to the French ship in
the harbour, and afterwards to me, and that I knew where to place her
with good-hearted, simple peasants who loved me, and would obey my
wishes in all things.

"She was satisfied, and I left her to make the necessary arrangements
to carry out my plans. A few weeks later Transita expired, and the
child was brought to me. I then sent her to Batata's house, where,
ignorant of the secret of her birth, she has been brought up as her
mother wished her to be. May she never, like the unhappy Transita,
fall into the power of a ravening beast in man's shape."

"Amen!" I exclaimed. "But surely, if this child will be entitled to
a fortune some day, it will only be right that she should have it."

"We do not worship gold in this country," he replied. "With us the
poor are just as happy as the rich, their wants are so few, and easily
satisfied. It would be too much to say that I love the child more than
I love anyone else; I think only of Transita's wishes; that for me is
the only right in the matter. Had I failed to carry them out to the
letter, then I should have suffered a great remorse. Possibly I may
encounter Andrada some day, and pass my sword through his body; that
would give me no remorse."

After some moments of silence he looked up and said, "Richard, you
admired and loved that beautiful girl when you first saw her. Listen,
if you wish it you shall have her for a wife. She is simple-minded,
ignorant of the world, affectionate, and where she is told to love she
will love. Batata's people will obey my wishes in everything."

I shook my head, smiling somewhat sorrowfully when I thought that the
events of the last few days had already half obliterated Margarita's
fair image from my mind. This unexpected proposition had, moreover,
forced on me, with a startling suddenness, the fact that by once
performing the act of marriage a man has for ever used up the most
glorious privilege of his sex--of course, I mean in countries where
he is only allowed to have one wife. It was no longer in my power to
say to any woman, however charming I might find her, "Be my wife." But
I did not explain all this to the General.

"Ah, you are thinking of conditions," said he; "there will be none."

"No, you have guessed wrong--for once," I returned. "The girl is all
you say; I have never seen a being more beautiful, and I have never
heard a more romantic story than the one you have just told me about
her birth. I can only echo your prayer that she may not suffer as her
mother did. In name she is not a de la Barca, and perhaps destiny will
spare her on that account."

He glanced keenly at me and smiled. "Perhaps you are thinking more of
Dolores than of Margarita just now," he said. "Let me warn you of your
danger there, my young friend. She is already promised to another."

Absurdly unreasonable as it may seem, I felt a jealous pang at that
information; but then, of course, we are _not_ reasonable beings,
whatever the philosophers say.

I laughed, not very gaily, I must confess, and answered that there was
no need to warn me, as Dolores would never be more to me than a very
dear friend.

Even then I did not tell him that I was a married man; for often in
the Banda Orientál I did not quite seem to know how to mix my truth
and lies, and so preferred to hold my tongue. In this instance, as
subsequent events proved, I held it not wisely but too well. The open
man, with no secrets from the world, often enough escapes disasters
which overtake your very discreet person, who acts on the old adage
that speech was given to us to conceal our thoughts.




CHAPTER XVII


With a horse to travel on, and my arm so much better that the sling
supporting it was worn rather for ornament than use, there was nothing
except that promise not to run away immediately to detain me longer
in the pleasant retreat of the Casa Blanca; nothing, that is, had I
been a man of gutta-percha or cast-iron; being only a creature of
clay--very impressionable clay as it happened--I could not persuade
myself that I was quite well enough to start on that long ride over
a disturbed country. Besides, my absence from Montevideo had already
lasted so long that a few days more could not make much difference one
way or the other; thus it came to pass that I still stayed on, enjoying
the society of my new friends, while every day, every hour in fact,
I felt less able to endure the thought of tearing myself away from
Dolores.

Much of my time was spent in the pleasant orchard adjoining the house.
Here, growing in picturesque irregularity, were fifty or sixty old
peach, nectarine, apricot, plum, and cherry trees, their boles double
the thickness of a man's thigh; they had never been disfigured by the
pruner's knife or saw, and their enormous size and rough bark, overgrown
with grey lichen, gave them an appearance of great antiquity. All about
the ground, tangled together in a pretty confusion, flourished many
of those dear familiar Old World garden flowers that spring up round
the white man's dwelling in all temperate regions of the earth. Here
were immemorial wallflowers, stocks and marigolds, tall hollyhock, gay
poppy, brilliant bachelor's button; also, half hid amongst the grass,
pansy and forget-me-not. The larkspur, red, white, and blue, flaunted
everywhere; and here, too, was the unforgotten sweet-william, looking
bright and velvety as of yore, yet, in spite of its brightness and
stiff, green collar, still wearing the old shame-faced expression, as
if it felt a little ashamed of its own pretty name. These flowers were
not cultivated, but grew spontaneously from the seed they shed year
by year on the ground, the gardener doing nothing for them beyond
keeping the weeds down and bestowing a little water in hot weather.
The solstitial heats being now over, during which European garden
flowers cease to bloom for a season, they were again in gayest livery
to welcome the long second spring of autumn, lasting from February to
May. At the farther end of this wilderness of flowers and fruit trees
was an aloe hedge, covering a width of twenty to thirty yards with its
enormous, disorderly, stave-like leaves. This hedge was like a strip
of wild nature placed alongside of a plot of man's improved nature;
and here, like snakes hunted from the open, the weeds and wildings
which were not permitted to mix with the flowers had taken refuge.
Protected by that rude bastion of spikes, the hemlock opened feathery
clusters of dark leaves and whitish umbels wherever it could reach up
to the sunshine. There also grew the nightshade, with other solanaceous
weeds, bearing little clusters of green and purple berries, wild oats,
fox-tail grass, and nettles. The hedge gave them shelter, but no
moisture, so that all these weeds and grasses had a somewhat forlorn
and starved appearance, climbing up with long stringy stems among the
powerful aloes. The hedge was also rich in animal life. There dwelt
mice, cavies, and elusive little lizards; crickets sang all day long
under it, while in every open space the green _epeiras_ spread
their geometric webs. Being rich in spiders, it was a favourite
hunting-ground of those insect desperadoes, the mason-wasps, that flew
about loudly buzzing in their splendid gold and scarlet uniform. There
were also many little shy birds here, and my favourite was the wren,
for in its appearance and its scolding, jerky, gesticulating ways it
is precisely like our house-wren, though it has a richer and more
powerful song than the English bird. On the other side of the hedge
was the _potrero_, or paddock, where a milch-cow with two or three
horses were kept. The manservant, whose name was Nepomucino, presided
over orchard and paddock, also to some extent over the entire
establishment. Nepomucino was a pure negro, a little old round-headed,
blear-eyed man, about five feet four in height, the short lumpy wool
on his head quite grey; slow in speech and movements, his old black
or chocolate-coloured fingers all crooked, stiff-jointed, and pointing
spontaneously in different directions. I have never seen anything in
the human subject to equal the dignity of Nepomucino, the profound
gravity of his bearing and expression forcibly reminding one of an
owl. Apparently he had come to look upon himself as the sole head and
master of the establishment, and the sense of responsibility had more
than steadied him. The negrine propensity to frequent explosions of
inconsequent laughter was not, of course, to be expected in such a
sober-minded person; but he was, I think, a little too sedate for a
black, for, although his face would shine on warm days like polished
ebony, it did not smile. Everyone in the house conspired to keep up
the fiction of Nepomucino's importance; they had, in fact, conspired
so long and so well, that it had very nearly ceased to be a fiction.
Everybody addressed him with grave respect. Not a syllable of his long
name was ever omitted--what the consequences of calling him Nepo, or
Cino, or Cinito, the affectionate diminutive, would have been I am
unable to say, since I never had the courage to try the experiment.
It often amused me to hear Doña Mercedes calling to him from the house,
and throwing the whole emphasis on the last syllable in a long, piercing
crescendo: "Ne--po--mu--ci--no--o." Sometimes, when I sat in the
orchard, he would come, and, placing himself before me, discourse
gravely about things in general, clipping his words and substituting
r for l in the negro fashion, which made it hard for me to repress a
smile. After winding up with a few appropriate moral reflections he
would finish with the remark: "For though I am black on the surface,
señor, my heart is white"; and then he would impressively lay one of
his old crooked fingers on the part where the physiological curiosity
was supposed to be. He did not like being told to perform menial
offices, preferring to anticipate all requests of that kind and do
whatever was necessary by stealth. Sometimes I would forget this
peculiarity of the old black, and tell him that I wanted him to polish
my boots. He would ignore the request altogether, and talk for a few
minutes of political matters, or on the uncertainty of all things
mundane, and by and by, glancing at my boots, would remark incidentally
that they required polishing, offering somewhat ostentatiously to have
them done for me. Nothing would make him admit that he did these things
himself. Once I tried to amuse Dolores by mimicking his speech to her,
but quickly she silenced me, saying that she loved Nepomucino too well
to allow even her best friend to laugh at him. He had been born when
blacks were slaves in the service of her family, had carried her in
his arms when she was an infant, and had seen all the male members of
the house of Zelaya swept away in the wars of Reds and Whites; but in
the days of their adversity his faithful, dog-like affection had never
failed them. It was beautiful to see her manner towards him. If she
wanted a rose for her hair or dress she would not pluck it herself or
allow me to get it for her, but Nepomucino must be asked to get it.
Then every day she would find time to sit down in the garden by his
side to tell him all the news of the village and of the country at
large, discuss the position of affairs with him, and ask his advice
about everything in the house.

Indoors or out I generally had Dolores for a companion, and I could
certainly not have had a more charming one. The civil war--though the
little splutter on the Yí scarcely deserved that name yet--was her
unfailing theme. She was never weary of singing her hero Santa Coloma's
praises--his dauntless courage and patience in defeat; his strange
romantic adventures; the innumerable disguises and stratagems he had
resorted to when going about in his own country, where a price was set
on his head; ever labouring to infuse fresh valour into his beaten,
disheartened followers. That the governing party had any right to be
in power, or possessed any virtue of any kind, or were, in fact,
anything but an incubus and a curse to the Banda Orientál, she would
not for one moment admit. To her mind her country always appeared like
Andromeda bound on her rock and left weeping and desolate to be a prey
to the abhorred Colorado monster; while ever to the deliverance of
this lovely being came her glorious Perseus, swift as the winds of
heaven, the lightnings of terrible vengeance flashing from his eyes,
the might of the immortals in his strong right arm. Often she tried
to persuade me to join this romantic adventurer, and it was hard, very
hard, to resist her eloquent appeals, and perhaps it grew harder every
day as the influence of her passionate beauty strengthened itself upon
my heart. Invariably I took refuge in the argument that I was a
foreigner, that I loved my country with an ardour equal to hers, and
that by taking arms in the Banda Orientál I should at once divest
myself of all an Englishman's rights and privileges. She scarcely had
patience to listen to this argument, it seemed so trivial to her, and
when she demanded other better reasons I had none to offer. I dare not
quote to her the words of sulky Achilles:

The distant Trojans never injured me, for that argument would have
sounded even weaker to her than the former one. She had never read
Homer in any language, of course, but she wouldhave quickly made me
tell her about Achilles, and when the end came, with miserable Hector
dragged thrice round the walls of besieged Troy--Montevideo was called
Modern Troy, she knew--then she would have turned my argument against
me and bidden me go and serve the Uruguayan President as Achilles
served Hector. Seeing me silent, she would turn indignantly away only
for a moment, however; the bright smile would quickly return, and she
would exclaim, "No, no, Richard, I shall not forget my promise, though
I sometimes think you try to make me do so."

It was noon: the house was quiet, for Doña Mercedes had retired after
breakfast to take her unfailing siesta, leaving us to our conversation.
In that spacious, cool room where I had first reposed in the house,
I was lying on the sofa smoking a cigarette. Dolores, seating herself
near me with her guitar, said, "Now let me play and sing you to sleep
with something very soft." But the more she played and sang the further
was I from un-needed slumber.

"What, not sleeping yet, Richard!" she would say, with a little laugh
after each song.

"Not yet, Dolores," I would reply, pretending to get drowsy. "But my
eyes are getting heavy now. One more song will send me to the region
of dreams. Sing me that sweet favourite---

  _Desde aquel doloroso momento_."

At length, finding that my sleepiness was all pretence, she refused
to sing any more, and presently we drifted once more into the old
subject.

"Ah, yes," she replied to that argument about my nationality, which
was my only shield, "I have always been taught to believe foreigners
a cold, practical, calculating kind of people--so different from us.
You never seemed to me like a foreigner; ah, Richard, why will you
make me remember that you are not one of us! Tell me, dear friend, if
a beautiful woman cried out to you to deliver her from some great
misfortune or danger, would you stop to ask her nationality before
going to her rescue?"

"No, Dolores; you know that if you, for instance, were in distress or
danger I would fly to your side and risk my life to save you."

"I believe you, Richard. But tell me, is it less noble to help a
suffering people cruelly oppressed by wicked men who have succeeded
by crimes and treachery and foreign aid in climbing into power? Will
you tell me that no Englishman has drawn a sword in a cause like that?
Oh, friend, is not my mother-country more beautiful and worthy to be
helped than any woman? Has not God given her spiritual eyes that shed
tears and look for comfort; lips sweeter than any woman's lips, that
cry bitterly every day for deliverance? Can you look on the blue skies
above you and walk on the green grass where the white and purple flowers
smile up at you and be deaf and blind to her beauty and to her great
need? Oh, no, no, it is impossible!"

"Ah, if you were a man, Dolores, what a flame you would kindle in the
hearts of your countrymen!"

"Yes, if I were a man!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet; "then I
should serve my country not with words only; then I would strike and
bleed for her--how willingly! Being only a weak woman, I would give
my heart's blood to win one arm to aid in the sacred cause."

She stood before me with flashing eyes, her face glowing with
enthusiasm; then I also rose to my feet and took her hands in mine,
for I was intoxicated with her loveliness and almost ready to throw
all restraints to the winds.

"Dolores," I said, "are not your words extravagant? Shall I test their
sincerity? Tell me, would you give even as much as one kiss with your
sweet lips to win a strong arm for your country?"

She turned crimson and cast her eyes down; then, quickly recovering
herself, answered:

"What do your words mean? Speak plainly, Richard."

"I cannot speak plainer, Dolores. Forgive me if I have offended once
more. Your beauty and grace and eloquence have made me forget myself."

Her hands were moist and trembling in mine, still she did not withdraw
them. "No, I am not offended," she returned in a strangely low tone.
"Put me to the test, Richard. Do you wish me to understand clearly
that for such a favour as that you would join us?"

"I cannot say," I replied, still endeavouring to be prudent, though
my heart was on fire and my words when I spoke seemed to choke me.
"But, Dolores, if you would shed your blood to win one strong arm,
will you think it too much to bestow the favour I spoke of in the hope
of winning an arm?"

She was silent. Then, drawing her closer, I touched her lips with mine.
But who was ever satisfied with that one touch on the lips for which
the heart has craved? It was like contact with a strange, celestial
fire that instantly kindled my love to madness. Again and yet again
I kissed her; I pressed her lips till they were dry and burned like
fire, then kissed cheek, forehead, hair, and, casting my arms about
her strained her to my breast in a long, passionate embrace; then the
violence of the paroxysm was over, and with a pang I released her. She
trembled: her face was whiter than alabaster, and, covering it with
her hands, she sank down on the sofa. I sat down beside her and drew
her head down on my breast, but we remained silent, only our hearts
were beating very fast. Presently she disengaged herself, and, without
bestowing one glance on me, rose and left the room.

Before long I began to blame myself bitterly for this imprudent
outburst. I dared not hope to continue longer on the old familiar
footing. So high-spirited and sensitive a woman as Dolores would not
easily be brought to forget or forgive my conduct. She had not repelled
me, she had even tacitly consented to that one first kiss, and was
therefore partly to blame herself; but her extreme pallor, her silence,
and cold manner had plainly shown me that I had wounded her. My passion
had overcome me, and I felt that I had compromised myself. For that
one first kiss I had all but promised to do a certain thing, and not
to do it now seemed very dishonourable, much as I shrank from joining
the Blanco rebels. I had proposed the thing myself; she had silently
consented to the stipulation. I had taken my kiss and much more, and,
having now had my delirious, evanescent joy, I could not endure the
thought of meanly skulking off without paying the price.

I went out full of trouble and paced up and down in the orchard for
two or three hours, hoping that Dolores might come to me there, but
I saw no more of her that day. At dinner Doña Mercedes was excessively
affable, showing clearly that she was not in her daughter's confidence.
She informed me, simple soul! that Dolores was suffering from a grievous
headache caused by taking a glass of claret at breakfast after eating
a slice of water-melon, an imprudence against which she did not omit
to caution me.

Lying awake that night--for the thought that I had pained and offended
Dolores made it impossible for me to sleep--I resolved to join Santa
Coloma immediately. That act alone would salve my conscience, and I
only hoped that it would serve to win back the friendship and esteem
of the woman I had learned to love so well. I had no sooner determined
on taking this step than I began to see so many advantages in it that
it seemed strange I had not taken it before; but we lose half our
opportunities in life through too much caution. A few more days of
adventure, all the pleasanter for being spiced with danger, and I would
be once more in Montevideo with a host of great and grateful friends
to start me in some career in the country. Yes, I said to myself,
becoming enthusiastic, once this oppressive, scandalous, and besotted
Colorado party is swept with bullet and steel out of the country, as
of course it will be, I shall go to Santa Coloma to lay down my sword,
resuming by that act my own nationality, and as sole reward of my
chivalrous conduct in aiding the rebellion, ask for his interest in
getting me placed say, at the head of some large _estancia_ in
the interior. There, possibly on one of his own establishments, I shall
be in my element and happy, hunting ostriches, eating _carne con
cuero_, possessing a _tropilla_ of twenty cream-coloured horses
for my private use, and building up a modest fortune out of hides,
horns, tallow, and other native products. At break of day I rose and
saddled my horse; then, finding the dignified Nepomucino, who was the
early bird (blackbird) of the establishment, told him to inform his
mistress that I was going to spend the day with General Santa Coloma.
After taking a _maté_ from the old fellow, I mounted and galloped
out of the village of Molino.

Arrived at the camp, which had been moved to a distance of four or
five miles from El Molino, I found Santa Coloma just ready to mount
his horse to start on an expedition to a small town eight or nine
leagues distant. He at once asked me to go with him, and remarked that
he was very much pleased, though not surprised, at my having changed
my mind about joining him. We did not return till late in the evening,
and the whole of the following day was spent in monotonous cavalry
exercises. I then went to the General and requested permission to visit
the Casa Blanca to bid adieu to my friends there. He informed me that
he intended going to El Molino the next morning himself and would take
me with him. The first thing he did on our arrival at the village was
to send me to the principal storekeeper in the place, a man who had
faith in the Blanco leader, and was rapidly disposing of a large stock
of goods at a splendid profit, receiving in payment sundry slips of
paper signed by Santa Coloma. This good fellow, who mixed politics
with business, provided me with a complete and much-needed outfit,
which included a broadcloth suit of clothes, soft brown hat rather
broad in the brim, long riding-boots, and _poncho_. Going back
to the official building or headquarters in the plaza, I received my
sword, which did not harmonise very well with the civilian costume I
wore; but I was no worse off in this respect than forty-nine out of
every fifty men in our little army.

In the afternoon we went together to see the ladies, and the General
had a very hearty welcome from both of them, as I also had from Doña
Mercedes, while Dolores received me with the utmost indifference,
expressing no pleasure or surprise at seeing me wearing a sword in the
cause which she had professed to have so much at heart. This was a
sore disappointment, and I was also nettled at her treatment of me.
After dinner, over which we sat talking some time, the General left
us, telling me before doing so to join him in the plaza at five o'clock
next morning. I then tried to get an opportunity of speaking to Dolores
alone, but she studiously avoided me, and in the evening there were
several visitors, ladies from the town with three or four officers
from the camp, and dancing and singing were kept up till towards
midnight. Finding that I could not speak to her, and anxious about my
appointment at five in the morning, I at length retired sorrowful and
baffled to my apartment. Without undressing I threw myself on my bed,
and, being very much fatigued with so much riding about, I soon fell
asleep. When I woke, the brilliant light of the moon, shining in at
open window and door, made me fancy it was already daylight, and I
quickly sprang up. I had no means of telling the time, except by going
into the large living-room, where there was an old eight-day clock.
Making my way thither, I was amazed to see, on entering it, Dolores
in her white dress sitting beside the open window in a dejected
attitude. She started and rose up when I entered, the extreme pallor
of her face heightened by contrast with her long, raven-black hair
hanging unbound on her shoulders.

"Dolores, do I find you here at this hour?" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she returned coldly, sitting down again. "Do you think it very
strange, Richard?"

"Pardon me for disturbing you," I said; "I came here to find out the
time from your clock."

"It is two o'clock. Is that all you came for? Did you imagine I could
retire to sleep without first knowing what your motive was in returning
to this house? Have you then forgotten everything?"

I came to her and sat down by the window before speaking. "No, Dolores,"
I said; "had I forgotten, you would not have seen me here enlisted in
a cause which I looked on only as your cause."

"Ah, then you have honoured the Casa Blanca with this visit not to
speak to me--that you considered unnecessary--but merely to exhibit
yourself wearing a sword!"

I was stung by the extreme bitterness of her tone. "You are unjust to
me," I said. "Since that fatal moment when my passion overcame me I
have not ceased thinking of you, grieving that I had offended you. No,
I did not come to exhibit my sword, which is not worn for ornament;
I came only to speak to you, Dolores, and you purposely avoided me."

"Not without reason," she retorted quickly. "Did I not sit quietly by
you after you had acted in that way towards me, waiting for you to
speak--to explain, and you were silent? Well, señor, I am here now,
waiting again."

"This, then, is what I have to say," I replied. "After what passed I
considered myself bound in honour to join your cause, Dolores. What
more can I say except to implore your forgiveness? Believe me, dear
friend, in that moment of passion I forgot everything--forgot that
I--forgot that your hand was already given to another."

"Given to another? What do you mean, Richard? Who told you that?"

"General Santa Coloma."

"The General? What right has he to occupy himself with my affairs?
This is a matter that concerns myself only, and it is presumption on
his part to interfere in it."

"Do you speak in that tone of your hero, Dolores? Remember that he
only warned me of my danger out of pure friendship. But his warning
was thrown away; my unhappy passion, the sight of your loveliness,
your own incautious words, were too much for my heart."

She dropped her face on her hands and remained silent.

"I have suffered for my fault, and must suffer more. Will you not say
you forgive me, Dolores?" I said, offering my hand.

She took it, but continued silent.

"Say, dearest friend, that you forgive me, that we part friends."

"Oh, Richard, must we part then?" she murmured.

"Yes--now, Dolores; for, before you are up, I must be on horseback and
on my way to join the troops. The march to Montevideo will probably
commence almost immediately."

"Oh, I cannot bear it!" she suddenly exclaimed, taking my hands in
both hers. "Let me open my heart to you now. Forgive me, Richard, for
being so angry with you, but I did not know the General had said such
a thing. Believe me, he imagines more than he knows. When you took me
in your arms and held me against your breast it was a revelation to
me. I cannot love or give my hand to any other man. You are everything
in the world to me now, Richard; must you leave me to mingle in this
cruel civil strife in which all my dearest friends and relations have
perished."

She had had her revelation; I now had mine, and it was an exceedingly
bitter one. I trembled at the thought of confessing my secret to her,
now when she had so unmistakably responded to the passion I had insanely
revealed.

Suddenly she raised her dark, luminous eyes to mine, anger and shame
struggling for mastery on her pale face.

"Speak, Richard!" she exclaimed. "Your silence at this moment is an
insult to me."

"For God's sake, have mercy on me, Dolores," I said. "I am not free--I
have a wife."

For some moments she sat staring fixedly at me, then, flinging my hand
from her, covered her face. Presently she uncovered it again, for shame
was overcome and cast out by anger. She rose and stood up before me,
her face very white.

"You have a wife--a wife whose existence you concealed from me till
this moment!" she said. "Now you ask for mercy when your secret has
been wrung from you! Married, and you have dared to take me in your
arms, to excuse yourself afterwards with the plea of passion!
Passion--do you know what it means, traitor? Ah, no; a breast like
yours cannot know any great or generous emotion. Would you have dared
show your face to me again had you been capable of shame even? And you
judged my heart as shallow as your own, and, after treating me in that
way, thought to win my forgiveness, and admiration even, by parading
before me with a sword! Leave me, I can feel nothing but contempt for
you. Go; you are a disgrace to the cause you have espoused!"

I had sat utterly crushed and humiliated, not daring even to raise my
sight to her face, for I felt that my own unspeakable weakness and
folly had brought this tempest upon me! But there is a limit to
patience, even in the most submissive mood; and when that was
overpassed, then my anger blazed out all the more hotly for the
penitential meekness I had preserved during the whole interview. Her
words from the first had fallen like whip-cuts, making me writhe with
the pain they inflicted; but that last taunt stung me beyond endurance.
I, an Englishman, to be told that I was a disgrace to the Blanco cause,
which I had joined, in spite of my better judgment, purely out of my
romantic devotion to this very woman! I too was now upon my feet, and
there face to face we stood for some moments, silent and trembling.
At length I found my speech.

"This," I cried, "from the woman who was ready yesterday to shed her
heart's blood to win one strong arm for her country? I have renounced
everything, allied myself with abhorred robbers and cut-throats, only
to learn that her one desire is everything to her, her divine, beautiful
country nothing. I wish that a man had spoken those words to me,
Dolores, so that I might have put this sword you speak of to one good
use before breaking it and flinging it from me like the vile thing it
is! Would to God the earth would open and swallow up this land for
ever, though I sank down into hell with it for the detestable crime
of taking part in its pirate wars!"

She stood perfectly still, gazing at me with widely dilated eyes, a
new expression coming into her face; then when I paused for her to
speak, expecting only a fresh outburst of scorn and bitterness, a
strange, sorrowful smile flitted over her lips, and, coming close to
me, she placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Oh," she said, "what a strength of passion you are capable of! Forgive
me, Richard, for I have forgiven you. Ah, we were made for each other,
and it can never, never be."

She dropped her head dejectedly on my shoulder. My anger vanished atthose
sad words; love only remained--love mingled with profoundest
compassion and remorse for the pain I had inflicted. Supporting her
with my arm, I tenderly stroked her dark hair, and, stooping, pressed
my lips against it.

"Do you love me so much, Dolores," I said, "enough even to forgive the
cruel, bitter words I have just spoken? Oh, I was mad--mad to say such
things to you, and shall repent it all my life long! How cruelly have
I wounded you with my love and my anger! Tell me, dearest Dolores, can
you forgive me?"

"Yes, Richard; everything. Is there any word you can speak, any deed
you can do, and I not forgive it? Does your wife love you like that--can
you love her as you love me? How cruel destiny is to us! Ah, my beloved
country, I was ready to shed my blood for you--just to win one strong
arm to fight for you, but I did not dream that this would be the
sacrifice required of me. Look, it will soon be time for you to go--we
cannot sleep now, Richard. Sit down here with me, and let us spend
this last hour together with my hand in yours, for we shall never,
never, never meet again."

And so, sitting there hand in hand, we waited for the dawn, speaking
many sad and tender words to one another; and at last, when we parted,
I held her once more unresisting to my breast, thinking, as she did,
that our separation would be an eternal one.




CHAPTER XVIII


About the stirring events of the succeeding days I have little to
relate, and no reader who has suffered the malady of love in its acutest
form will wonder at it. During those days I mixed with a crowd of
adventurers, returned exiles, criminals, and malcontents, every one
of them worth studying; the daylight hours were passed in cavalry
exercises or in long expeditions about the country, while every evening
beside the camp fire romantic tales enough to fill a volume were told
in my hearing. But the image of Dolores was ever before my mind, so
that all this crowded period, lasting nine or ten days, passed before
me like a phantasmagoria, or an uneasy dream, leaving only a very
confused impression on my brain. I not only grieved for the sorrow I
had occasioned her, but mourned also that my own heart had so terribly
betrayed me, so that for the moment the beautiful girl I had persuaded
to fly from home and parents, promising her my undying affection, had
ceased to be what she had been, so great was this new inconvenient
passion. The General had offered me a commission in his tatterdemalion
gathering, but, as I had no knowledge of military matters, I had
prudently declined it, only requesting, as a special favour, that I
might be employed constantly on the expeditions he sent out over the
surrounding country to beat up recruits, seize arms, cattle, and horses,
and to depose the little local authorities in the villages, putting
creatures of his own in their places. This request had been granted,
so that morning, noon, and night I was generally in the saddle.

One evening I was in the camp seated beside a large fire and gloomily
staring into the flames, when the other men, who were occupied playing
cards or sipping _maté_, hastily rose to their feet, making the
salute. Then I saw the General standing near gazing fixedly at me.
Motioning to the men to resume their cards, he sat down by my side.

"What is the matter with you?" he said. "I have noticed that you are
like a different person since you joined us. Do you regret that step?"

"No," I answered, and then was silent, not knowing what more to say.

He looked searchingly at me. Doubtless some suspicion of the truth was
in his mind; for he had gone to the Casa Blanca with me, and it was
scarcely likely that his keen eyes had failed to notice the cold
reception Dolores gave me on that occasion. He did not, however, touch
on that matter.

"Tell me," he said at length, "what can I do for you?"

I laughed. "What can you do except to take me to Montevideo?" I replied.

"Why do you say that?" he returned quickly.

"We are not merely friends now as we were before I joined you," I said.
"You are my General; I am simply one of your men."

"The friendship remains just the same, Richard. Let me know frankly
what you think of this campaign, since you have now suddenly turned
the current of the conversation in that direction?"

There was a slight sting in the concluding words, but I had, perhaps,
deserved it. "Since you bid me speak," I said, "I, for one, feel very
much disappointed at the little progress we are making. It seems to
me that before you are in a position to strike, the enthusiasm and
courage of your people will have vanished. You cannot get anything
like a decent army together, and the few men you have are badly armed
and undisciplined. Is it not plain that a march to Montevideo in these
circumstances is impossible, that you will be obliged to retire into
the remote and difficult places to carry on a guerilla war?"

"No," he returned; "there is to be no guerilla war. The Colorados made
the Orientals sick of it, when that arch-traitor and chief of
cut-throats, General Rivera, desolated the Banda for ten years. We
must ride on to Montevideo soon. As for the character of my force,
that is a matter it would perhaps be useless to discuss, my young
friend. If I could import a well-equipped and disciplined army from
Europe to do my fighting, I should do so. The Oriental farmer, unable
to send to England for a threshing-machine, is obliged to go out and
gather his wild mares from the plain to tread out his wheat, and I,
in like manner, having only a few scattered _ranchos_ to draw my
soldiers from, must be satisfied to do what I can with them. And now
tell me, are you anxious to see something done at once--a fight, for
instance, in which we might possibly be the losers?"

"Yes, that would be better than standing still. If you are strong, the
best thing you can do is to show your strength."

He laughed. "Richard, you were made for an Oriental," he said, "only
nature at your birth dropped you down in the wrong country. You are
brave to rashness, abhor restraint, love women, and have a light heart;
the Castilian gravity you have recently assumed is, I fancy, only a
passing mood."

"Your words are highly complimentary and fill me with pride," I
answered, "but I scarcely see their connection with the subject of our
conversation."

"There is a connection, nevertheless," he returned pleasantly. "Though
you refuse a commission from me, I am so convinced that you are in
heart one of us that I will take you into my confidence and tell you
something known to only half a dozen trusted individuals here. You
rightly say that if we have strength we must show it to the country.
That is what we are now about to do. A cavalry force has been sent
against us and we shall engage it before two days are over. As far as
I know, the forces will be pretty evenly balanced, though our enemies
will, of course, be better armed. We shall choose our own ground; and,
should they attack us tired with a long march, or if there should be
any disaffection amongst them, the victory will be ours, and after
that every Blanco sword in the Banda will be unsheathed in our cause.
I need not repeat to you that in the hour of my triumph, if it ever
comes, I shall not forget my debt to you; my wish is to bind you, body
and heart, to this Oriental country. It is, however, possible that I
may suffer defeat, and if in two days' time we are all scattered to
the winds, let me advise you what to do. Do not attempt to return
immediately to Montevideo, as that might be dangerous. Make your way
by Minas to the southern coast; and when you reach the department of
Rocha, inquire for the little settlement of Lomas de Rocha, a village
three leagues west of the lake. You will find there a storekeeper, one
Florentino Blanco--a Blanco in heart as well. Tell him I sent you to
him, and ask him to procure you an English passport from the capital;
after which it will be safe for you to travel to Montevideo. Should
you ever be identified as a follower of mine, you can invent some story
to account for your presence in my force. When I remember that botanical
lecture you once delivered, also some other matters, I am convinced
that you are not devoid of imagination."

After giving some further kind advice, he bade me good night, leaving
me with a strangely unpleasant conviction in my mind that we had changed
characters for the nonce, and that I had bungled as much in my new
part as I had formerly done in my old. He had been sincerity itself,
while I, picking up the discarded mask, had tied it on, probably upside
down, for it made me feel excessively uncomfortable during our
interview. To make matters worse, I was also sure that it had quite
failed to hide my countenance, and that he knew as well as I knew
myself the real cause of the change he had noticed in me.

These disagreeable reflections did not trouble me long, and then I
began to feel considerable excitement at the prospect of a brush with
the government troops. My thoughts kept me awake most of the night;
still, next morning, when the trumpet sounded its shrill réveillé close
at hand, I rose quickly, and in a much more cheerful mood than I had
known of late. I began to feel that I was getting the better of that
insane passion for Dolores which had made us both so unhappy, and when
we were once more in the saddle the "Castilian gravity," to which the
General had satirically alluded, had pretty well vanished.

No expeditions were sent out that day; after we had marched about
twelve or thirteen miles eastward and nearer to the immense range of
the Cuchilla Grande, we encamped, and after the midday meal spent the
afternoon in cavalry exercises.

On the next day happened the great event for which we had been
preparing, and I am positive that, with the wretched material he
commanded, no man could have done more than Santa Coloma, though, alas!
all his efforts ended in disaster. Alas, I say, not because I took,
even then, any very serious interest in Oriental politics, but because
it would have been greatly to my advantage if things had turned out
differently. Besides, a great many poor devils who had been an
unconscionable time out in the cold would have come into power, and
the rascally Colorados sent away in their turn to eat the "bitter
bread" of proscription. The fable of the fox and the flies might here
possibly occur to the reader; I, however, preferred to remember Lucero's
fable of the tree called Montevideo, with the chattering colony in its
branches, and to look upon myself as one in the majestic bovine army
about to besiege the monkeys and punish them for their naughty
behaviour.

Quite early in the morning we had breakfast, then every man was ordered
to saddle his best horse; for every one of us was the owner of three
or four steeds. I, of course, saddled the horse the General had given
me, which had been reserved for important work. We mounted, and
proceeded at a gentle pace through a very wild and broken country,
still in the direction of the Cuchilla. About midday scouts came riding
in and reported that the enemy were close upon us. After halting for
half an hour, we again proceeded at the same gentle pace till about
two o'clock, when we crossed the Cañada de San Paulo, a deep valley
beyond which the plain rose to a height of about one hundred and fifty
feet. In the _cañada_ we stopped to water our horses, and there
heard that the enemy were advancing along it at a rapid pace, evidently
hoping to cut off our supposed retreat towards the Cuchilla. Crossing
the little stream of San Paulo, we began slowly ascending the sloping
plain on the farther side till the highest point was gained; then,
turning, we saw the enemy, numbering about seven hundred men, beneath
us, spread out in a line of extraordinary length. Up from the valley
they came towards us at a brisk trot. We were then rapidly disposed
in three columns, the centre one numbering about two hundred and fifty
men, the others about two hundred men each. I was in one of the outside
columns, within about four men from the front. My fellow-soldiers, who
had hitherto been very light-hearted and chatty, had suddenly become
grave and quiet, some of them even looking pale and scared. On one
side of me was an irrepressible scamp of a boy about eighteen years
old, a dark little fellow, with a monkey face and a feeble, falsetto
voice like a very old woman. I watched him take out a small sharp knife
and without looking down draw it across the upper part of his surcingle
three or four times; but this he did evidently only for practice, as
he did not cut into the hide. Seeing me watching, he grinned
mysteriously and made a sign with head and shoulders thrust forward
in imitation of a person riding away at full speed, after which he
restored his knife to its sheath.

"You intend cutting your surcingle and running away, little coward?"
I said.

"And what are you going to do?" he returned.

"Fight," I said.

"It is the best thing you can do, Sir Frenchman," said he, with a grin.

"Listen," I said, "when the fight is over, I will look you up to thrash
you for your impertinence in calling me a Frenchman."

"After the fight!" he exclaimed, with a funny grimace. "Do you mean
next year? Before that distant time arrives some Colorado will fall
in love with you, and--and--and----"

Here he explained himself without words by drawing the edge of his
hand briskly across his throat, then closing his eyes and making
gurgling sounds, supposed to be uttered by a person undergoing the
painful operation of having his throat cut.

Our colloquy was carried on in whispers, but his pantomimic performance
drew on us the attention of our neighbours, and now he looked round
to inform them with a grin and a nod that his Oriental wit was getting
the victory. I was determined not to be put down by him, however, and
tapped my revolver with my hand to call his attention to it.

"Look at this, you young miscreant," I said. "Do you not know that I
and many others in this column have received orders from the General
to shoot down every man who attempts to run away?"

This speech effectually silenced him. He turned as pale as his dark
skin would let him, and looked round like a hunted animal in search
of a hole to hide in.

On my other hand a grizzly-bearded old gaucho, in somewhat tattered
garments, lit a cigarette and, oblivious of everything except the
stimulating fragrance of the strongest black tobacco, expanded his
lungs with long inspirations, to send forth thereafter clouds of blue
smoke into his neighbours' faces, scattering the soothing perfume over
a third portion of the army.

Santa Coloma rose equal to the occasion; swiftly riding from column
to column, he addressed each in turn, and, using the quaint, expressive
phraseology of the gauchos, which he knew so well, poured forth his
denunciations of the Colorados with a fury and eloquence that brought
the blood with a rush to many of his followers' pale cheeks. They were
traitors, plunderers, assassins, he cried; they had committed a million
crimes, but all these things were nothing, nothing compared with that
one black crime which no other political party had been guilty of. By
the aid of Brazilian gold and Brazilian bayonets they had risen to
power; they were the infamous pensioners of the empire of slaves. He
compared them to the man who marries a beautiful wife and sells her
to some rich person so as to live luxuriously on the wages of his own
dishonour. The foul stain which they had brought on the honour of the
Banda Orientál could only be washed away with their blood. Pointing
to the advancing troops, he said that when those miserable hirelings
were scattered like thistle-down before the wind, the entire country
would be with him, and the Banda Orientál, after half a century of
degradation, free at last and for ever from the Brazilian curse.

Waving his sword, he galloped back to the front of his column, greeted
by a storm of _vivas_.

Then a great silence fell upon our ranks; while up the slope, their
trumpets sounding merrily, trotted the enemy, till they had covered
about three hundred yards of the ascending ground, threatening to close
us round in an immense circle, when suddenly the order was given to
charge, and, led by Santa Coloma, we thundered down the incline upon
them.

Soldiers reading this plain, unvarnished account of an Oriental battle
might feel inclined to criticise Santa Coloma's tactics; for his men
were, like the Arabs, horsemen and little else; they were, moreover,
armed with lance and broadsword, weapons requiring a great deal of
space to be used effectively. Yet, considering all the circumstances,
I am sure that he did the right thing. He knew that he was too weak
to meet the enemy in the usual way, pitting man against man; also that
if he failed to fight, his temporary prestige would vanish like smoke
and the rebellion collapse. Having decided to hazard all, and knowing
that in a stand-up fight he would infallibly be beaten, his only plan
was to show a bold front, mass his feeble followers together in columns,
and hurl them upon the enemy, hoping by this means to introduce a panic
amongst his opponents and so snatch the victory.

A discharge of carbines with which we were received did us no damage. I,
at any rate, saw no saddles emptied near me, and in a few moments
we were dashing through the advancing lines. A shout of triumph went
up from our men, for our cowardly foes were flying before us in all
directions. On we rode in triumph till we reached the bottom of the
hill, then we reined up, for before us was the stream of San Paulo,
and the few scattered men who had crossed it and were scuttling away
like hunted ostriches scarcely seemed worth chasing. Suddenly with a
great shout a large body of Colorados came thundering down the hill
on our rear and flank, and dismay seized upon us. The feeble efforts
made by some of our officers to bring us round to face them proved
unavailing. I am utterly unable to give any clear account of what
followed immediately after that, for we were all, friends and foes,
mixed up for some minutes in the wildest confusion, and how I ever got
out of it all without a scratch is a mystery to me. More than once I
was in violent collision with Colorado men, distinguished from ours
by their uniform, and several furious blows with sword and lance were
aimed at me, but somehow I escaped them all. I emptied the six chambers
of my Colt's revolver, but whether my bullets did any execution or not
I cannot pretend to say. In the end I found myself surrounded by four
of our men who were furiously spurring their horses out of the fight.

"Whip up, Captain, come with us this way," shouted one of them who
knew me, and who always insisted on giving me a title to which I had
no right.

As we rode away, skirting the hill towards the south, he assured me
that all was lost, in proof of which he pointed to scattered bodies
of our men flying from the field in all directions. Yes, we were
defeated; that was plain to see, and I needed little encouragement
from my fellow-runaways to spur my horse to its utmost speed. Had the
falcon eye of Santa Coloma rested on me at that moment he might have
added to the list of Oriental traits he had given me the un-English
faculty of knowing when I was beaten. I was quite as anxious, I believe,
to save my skin--_throat_, we say in the Banda Orientál--as any
horseman there, not even excepting the monkey-faced boy with the squeaky
voice.

If the curious reader, thirsting for knowledge, will consult the
Uruguayan histories, I daresay he will find a more scientific
description of the battle of San Paulo than I have been able to give.
My excuse must be that it was the only battle--pitched or other--at
which I have ever assisted, also that my position in the Blanco forces
was a very humble one. Altogether I am not overproud of my soldiering
performances; still, as I did no worse than Frederick the Great of
Prussia, who ran away from his first battle, I do not consider that
I need blush furiously. My companions took our defeat with the usual
Oriental resignation. "You see," said one in explanation of his mental
attitude, "there must always be one side defeated in every fight, for
had we gained the day, then the Colorados would have lost." There was
in this remark a sound practical philosophy; it could not be
controverted, it burdened our brains with no new thing, and it made
us all very cheerful. For myself, I did not care very much, but could
not help thinking a great deal of Dolores, who would now have a fresh
grief to increase her pain.

For a distance of three or four miles we rode at a fast gallop, on the
slopes of the Cuchilla paused to breathe our horses, and, dismounting,
stood for some time gazing back over the wide landscape spread out
before us. At our backs rose the giant green and brown walls of the
sierras, the range stretching away on either hand in violet and deep
blue masses. At our feet lay the billowy green and yellow plain, vast
as ocean, and channelled by innumerable streams, while one black patch
on a slope far away showed us that our foes were camping on the very
spot where they had overcome us. Not a cloud appeared in the immense
heavens; only, low down in the west, purple and rose-coloured vapours
were beginning to form, staining the clear, intense white-blue sky
about the sinking sun. Over all reigned deep silence; until, suddenly,
a flock of orange and flame-coloured orioles with black wings swept
down on a clump of bushes hard by and poured forth a torrent of wild,
joyous music. A strange performance! screaming notes that seemed to
scream jubilant gladness to listening heaven, and notes abrupt and
guttural, mingling with others more clear and soul-piercing than ever
human lips drew from reed or metal. It soon ended; up sprang the
vocalists like a fountain of fire and fled away to their roost among
the hills, then silence reigned once more. What brilliant hues, what
gay, fantastic music! Were they indeed birds, or the glad, winged
inhabitants of a mystic region, resembling earth, but sweeter than
earth and never entered by death, upon whose threshold I had stumbled
by chance? Then, while the last rich flood of sunshine came over the
earth from that red, everlasting urn resting on the far horizon, I
could, had I been alone, have cast myself upon the ground to adore the
great God of Nature, who had given me this precious moment of life.
For here the religion that languishes in crowded cities or steals
shame-faced to hide itself in dim churches flourishes greatly, filling
the soul with a solemn joy. Face to face with Nature on the vast hills
at eventide, who does not feel himself near to the Unseen?

    Out of his heart God shall not pass:
    His image stampèd is on every grass.

My comrades, anxious to get through the Cuchilla, were already on
horseback, shouting to me to mount. One more lingering glance over
that wide prospect--wide, yet how small a portion of the Banda's twenty
thousand miles of everlasting verdure, watered by innumerable beautiful
streams? Again the thought of Dolores swept like a moaning wind over
my heart. For this rich prize, her beautiful country, how weakly and
with what feeble hands had we striven! Where now was her hero, the
glorious deliverer Perseus? Lying, perhaps, stark and stained with
blood on yon darkening moor. Not yet was the Colorado monster overcome.
"Rest on thy rock, Andromeda!" I sadly murmured, then, leaping into
the saddle, galloped away after my retreating comrades, already half
a mile away down in the shadowy mountain pass.




CHAPTER XIX


Before it had been long dark, we had crossed the range and into the
department of Minas. Nothing happened till towards midnight, when our
horses began to be greatly distressed. My companions hoped to reach
before morning an _estancia_, still many leagues distant, where
they were known and would be allowed to lie in concealment for a few
days till the storm blew over; for usually shortly after an outbreak
has been put down an _indulto_, or proclamation of pardon, is
issued, after which it is safe for all those who have taken arms against
the constituted government to return to their homes. For the time we
were, of course, outlaws, and liable to have our throats cut at any
moment. Our poor horses at last became incapable even of a trot, and,
dismounting, we walked on, leading them by the bridles.

About midnight we approached a watercourse, the upper part of the Rio
Barriga Negra--Black Belly River--and on coming near it the tinkling
of a bell attracted our attention. It is the usual thing for every man
in the Banda Orientál to have one mare, called _madrina_, in his
_tropilla_, or herd of geldings; the _madrina_ always carries
a bell attached to her neck, and at night her forefeet are usually
hobbled to prevent her wandering far from home; for the horses are
always very much attached to her and will not leave her.

After listening for a few moments, we concluded that the sound came
from the bell of a _madrina_, and that her forefeet were bound,
for the tinkle came in violent jerks, as from an animal laboriously
hopping along. Proceeding to the spot, we found a _tropilla_ of
eleven or twelve dun-coloured horses feeding near the river. Driving
them very gently towards the bank, where a sharp bend in the stream
enabled us to corner them, we set to work catching fresh horses.
Fortunately they were not very shy of strangers, and after we had
caught and secured the _madrina_, they gathered whinnying round
her, and we were not very long in selecting the five best-looking duns
in the herd.

"My friends, I call this stealing," I said, though at that very moment
I was engaged in hastily transferring my saddle to the animal I had
secured.

"That is very interesting information," said one of my comrades.

"A stolen horse will always carry you well," said another.

"If you cannot steal a horse without compunction, you have not been
properly brought up," cried the third.

"In the Banda Orientál," said the fourth, "you are not looked upon as
an honest man unless you steal."

We then crossed the river and broke into a swift gallop, which we kept
up till morning, reaching our destination a little while before sunrise.
There was here a fine plantation of trees not far from the house,
surrounded by a deep ditch and a cactus hedge, and after we had taken
_maté_ and then breakfast at the house, where the people received
us very kindly, we proceeded to conceal our horses and ourselves in
the plantation. We found a comfortable little grassy hollow, partly
shaded with the surrounding trees, and here we spread our rugs, and,
fatigued with our exertions, soon dropped into a deep sleep which
lasted pretty well all day. It was a pleasant day for me, for I had
waking intervals during which I experienced that sensation of absolute
rest of mind and body which is so exceedingly sweet after a long period
of toil and anxiety. During my waking intervals I smoked cigarettes
and listened to the querulous pipings of a flock of young black-headed
siskins flying about from tree to tree after their parents and asking
to be fed.

Occasionally the long, clear cry of the venteveo, a lemon-coloured
bird with black head and long beak like a kingfisher, rang through the
foliage; or a flock of pecho amarillos, olive-brown birds with bright
yellow vests, would visit the trees and utter their confused chorus
of gay notes.

I did not think very much about Santa Coloma. Probably he had escaped,
and was once more a wanderer disguised in the humble garments of a
peasant; but that would be no new experience to him. The bitter bread
of expatriation had apparently been his usual food, and his periodical
descents upon the country had so far always ended in disaster: he had
still an object to live for. But when I remembered Dolores lamenting
her lost cause and vanished peace of mind, then, in spite of the bright
sunshine flecking the grass, the soft, warm wind fanning my face
andwhispering in the foliage overhead, and the merry-throated birds that
came to visit me, a pang was in my heart, and tears came to my eyes.

When evening came we were all wide awake, and sat till a very late
hour round the fire we had made in the hollow, sipping _maté_ and
conversing. We were all in a talkative mood that evening, and after
the ordinary subjects of Banda Orientál conversation had been exhausted,
we drifted into matters extraordinary--wild creatures of strange
appearance and habits, apparitions, and marvellous adventures.

"The manner in which the lampalagua captures its prey is very curious,"
said one of the company, named Rivarola, a stout man with an immense,
fierce-looking black beard and moustache, but who was very mild-eyed
and had a gentle, cooing voice.

We had all heard of the lampalagua, a species of boa found in these
countries, with a very thick body and extremely sluggish in its motions.
It preys on the larger rodents, and captures them, I believe, by
following them into their burrows, where they cannot escape from its
jaws by running.

"I will tell you what I once witnessed, for I have never seen a stranger
thing," continued Rivarola. "Riding one day through a forest I saw
some distance before me a fox sitting on the grass watching my approach.
Suddenly I saw it spring high up into the air, uttering a great scream
of terror, then fall back upon the earth, where it lay for some time
growling, struggling, and biting as if engaged in deadly conflict
withsome visible enemy. Presently it began to move away through the wood,
but very slowly and still frantically struggling. It seemed to be
getting exhausted, its tail dragged, the mouth foamed, and the tongue
hung out, while it still moved on as if drawn by an unseen cord. I
followed, going very close to it, but it took no notice of me. Sometimes
it dug its claws into the ground or seized a twig or stalk with its
teeth, and it would then remain resting for a few moments till the
twig gave away, when it would roll over many times on the ground,
loudly yelping, but still dragged onwards. Presently I saw in the
direction we were going a huge serpent, thick as a man's thigh, its
head lifted high above the grass, and motionless as a serpent of stone.
Its cavernous, blood-red mouth was gaping wide, and its eyes were fixed
on the struggling fox. When about twenty yards from the serpent the
fox began moving very rapidly over the ground, its struggles growing
feebler every moment, until it seemed to fly through the air, and in
an instant was in the serpent's mouth. Then the reptile dropped its
head and began slowly swallowing its prey."

"And you actually witnessed this yourself?" said I.

"With these eyes," he returned, indicating the orbs in question by
pointing at them with the tube of the _maté_-cup he held in his
hand. "This was the only occasion on which I have actually seen the
lampalagua take its prey, but its manner of doing it is well known to
everyone from hearsay. You see, it draws an animal towards it by means
of its power of suction. Sometimes, when the animal attacked is very
strong or very far off--say two thousand yards--the serpent becomes
so inflated with the quantity of air inhaled while drawing the victim
towards it----"

"That it bursts?" I suggested.

"That it is obliged to stop drawing to blow the wind out. When this
happens, the animal, finding itself released from the drawing force,
instantly sets off at full speed. Vain effort! The serpent has no
sooner discharged the accumulated wind with a report like a cannon----"

"No, no, like a musket! I have heard it myself," interrupted Blas Aria,
one of the listeners.

"Like a musket, than it once more brings its power of suction to bear;
and in this manner the contest continues until the victim is finally
drawn into the monster's jaws. It is well known that the lampalagua
is the strongest of all God's creatures, and that if a man, stripped
to the skin, engages one, and conquers it by sheer muscular strength,
the serpent's power goes into him, after which he is invincible."

I laughed at this fable, and was severely rebuked for my levity.

"I will tell you the strangest thing that ever befell me," said Blas
Aria. "I happened to be travelling alone--for reasons--on the northern
frontier. I crossed the River Yaguaron into Brazilian territory, and
for a whole day rode through a great marshy plain, where the reeds
were dead and yellow, and the water shrunk into muddy pools. It was
a place to make a man grow weary of life. When the sun was going down,
and I began to despair of getting to the end of this desolation, I
discovered a low hovel made of mud and thatched with rushes. It was
about fifteen yards long, with only one small door, and seemed to be
uninhabited, for no person answered me when I rode round it shouting
aloud. I heard a grunting and squealing within, and by and by a sow,
followed by a litter of young pigs, came out, looked at me, then went
in again. I would have ridden on, but my horses were tired; besides,
a great storm with thunder and lightning was coming up, and no other
shelter appeared in sight. I therefore unsaddled, loosed my horses to
feed, and took my gear into the hovel. The room I entered was so small
that the sow and her young occupied all the floor; there was, however,
another room, and, opening the door, which was closed, I went into it,
and found that it was very much larger than the first; also, that it
contained a dirty bed made of skins in one corner, while on the floor
was a heap of ashes and a black pot. There was nothing else except old
bones, sticks, and other rubbish littering the floor. Afraid of being
caught unawares by the owner of this foul den, and finding nothing to
eat in it, I returned to the first room, turned the pigs out of doors,
and sat down on my saddle to wait. It was beginning to get dark when
a woman, bringing in a bundle of sticks, suddenly appeared at the door.
Never, sirs, have I beheld a fouler, more hideous object than this
person. Her face was hard, dark, and rough like the bark of the
_ñandubuy_ tree, while her hair, which covered her head and
shoulders in a tangled mass, was of a dry, earthy colour. Her body was
thick and long, yet she looked like a dwarf, for she scarcely had any
legs, only enormous knees and feet; and her garments were old ragged
horse-rugs tied round her body with thongs of hide. She stared at me
out of a pair of small black rat eyes, then, setting down her bundle,
asked me what I wanted. I told her I was a tired traveller, and wanted
food and shelter. 'Shelter you can have: food there is none,' she said;
then, taking up her sticks, she passed to the inner room and secured
it with a bolt on the inside. She had not inspired me with love, and
there was little danger of my attempting to intrude on her there. It
was a black, stormy night, and very soon the rain began to fall in
torrents. Several times the sow, with her young pigs loudly squealing,
came in for shelter, and I was forced to get up and beat them out with
my whip. At length, through the mud partition separating the two rooms,
I heard the crackling of a fire which the vile woman was lighting;
and, before long, through the chinks came the savoury smell of roast
meat. That surprised me greatly, for I had searched the room and failed
to find anything to eat in it. I concluded that she had brought in the
meat under her garments, but where she had got it was a mystery. At
length I began to doze. There were many sounds in my ear as of thunder
and wind, the pigs grunting at the door, and the crackling of the fire
in the hag's room. But by and by other sounds seemed to mingle with
these--voices of several persons talking, laughing, and singing. At
length I became wide awake, and found that these voices proceeded from
the next room. Some person was playing a guitar and singing, then
others were loudly talking and laughing. I tried to peep through the
cracks in the door and partition, but could not see through them. High
up in the middle of the wall there was one large crack through which
I was sure the interior could be seen, so much red firelight streamed
through it. I placed my saddle against the partition, and all my rugs
folded small, one above the other, until I had heaped them as high as
my knees. Standing on my toes on this pile, and carefully clinging to
the wall with my finger-nails, I managed to bring my eyes to a level
with the crack, and peeped through it. The room inside was brightly
lighted by a big wood fire burning at one end, while on the floor a
large crimson cloak was spread, on which the people I had heard were
sitting with some fruit and bottles of wine before them. There was
the foul hag, looking almost as tall sitting as she had appeared when
standing; she was playing on a guitar and singing a ballad in
Portuguese. Before her on the cloak lay a tall, well-formed negro
woman, wearing only a narrow white cloth round her loins, and broad
silver armlets on her round black arms. She was eating a banana, and
against her knees, which were drawn up, sat a beautiful girl about
fifteen years old, with a dark pale face. She was dressed in white,
her arms were bare, and round her head she wore a gold band keeping
back her black hair, which fell unbound on her back. Before her, on
his knees on the cloak, was an old man with a face brown and wrinkled
as a walnut, and beard white as thistle-down. With one of his hands
he was holding the girl's arm, and with the other offering her a glass
of wine. All this I saw at one glance, and then all of them together
turned their eyes up at the crack as if they knew that someone was
watching them. I started back in alarm, and fell with a crash to the
ground. Then I heard loud screams of laughter, but I dared not attempt
to look in on them again, I took my rugs to the farther side of the
room, and sat down to wait for morning. The talking and laughter
continued for about two hours, then it gradually died away, the light
faded from the chinks, and all was dark and silent. No person came
out; and at last, overcome with drowsiness, I fell asleep. It was day
when I woke. I rose and walked round the hovel, and, finding a crack
in the wall, I peered into the hag's room. It looked just as I had
seen it the day before; there was the pot and pile of ashes, and in
the corner the brutish woman lying asleep in her skins. After that I
got on to my horse and rode away. May I never again have such an
experience as I had that night."

Something was then said about witchcraft by the others, all looking
very solemn.

"You were very hungry and tired that night," I ventured to remark,
"and perhaps after the woman locked her door you went to sleep and
dreamed all that about people eating fruit and playing on the guitar."

"Our horses were tired and we were flying for our lives yesterday,"
returned Blas contemptuously. "Perhaps it made us dream that we caught
five dun horses to carry us."

"When a person is incredulous, it is useless arguing with him," said
Mariano, a small dark grey-haired man. "I will now tell you a strange
adventure I had when I was a young man; but remember I do not put a
blunderbuss to any man's breast to compel him to believe me. For what
is, is; and let him that disbelieves shake his head till he shakes it
off, and it falls to the ground like a cocoanut from the tree.

"After I got married I sold my horses, and, taking all my money,
purchased two ox-carts, intending to make my living by carrying freight.
One cart I drove myself, and to drive the other I hired a boy whom I
called Mula, though that was not the name his godfathers gave him, but
because he was stubborn and sullen as a mule. His mother was a poor
widow, living near me, and when she heard about the ox-carts she came
to me with her son and said, 'Neighbour Mariano, for your mother's
sake, take my son and teach him to earn his bread, for he is a boy
that loves not to do anything.' So I took Mula and paid the widow for
his services after each journey. When there was no freight to be had
I sometimes went to the lagoons to cut rushes, and, loading the carts
with them, we would go about the country to sell the rushes to those
who required them to thatch their houses. Mula loved not this work.
Often when we were all day wading up to our thighs in the water, cutting
the rushes down close to their roots, then carrying them in large
bundles on our shoulders to land, he would cry, complaining bitterly
of his hard lot. Sometimes I thrashed him, for it angered me to see
a poor boy so fastidious: then he would curse me and say that some day
he would have his revenge. 'When I am dead,' he often told me, 'my ghost
will come to haunt and terrify you for all the blows you have given
me.' This always made me laugh.

"At last, one day, while crossing a deep stream, swollen with rains,
my poor Mula fell down from his perch on the shaft and was swept away
by the current into deep water and drowned. Well, sirs, about a year
after that event I was out in search of a couple of strayed oxen when
night overtook me a long distance from home. Between me and my house
there was a range of hills running down to a deep river, so close that
there was only a narrow passage to get through, and for a long distance
there was no other opening. When I reached the pass I fell into a
narrow path with bushes and trees growing on either side; here,
suddenly, the figure of a young man stepped out from the trees and
stood before me. It was all in white--_poncho, chiripà_, drawers,
even its boots, and wore a broad-brimmed straw hat on its head. My
horse stood still trembling; nor was I less frightened, for my hair
rose up on my head like bristles on a pig's back; and the sweat broke
out on my face like raindrops. Not a word said the figure; only
itremained standing still with arms folded on its breast, preventing me
from passing. Then I cried out, 'In Heaven's name, who are you, and
what do you want with Mariano Montes de Oca, that you bar his path?'
At this speech it laughed; then it said, 'What, does my old master not
know me? I am Mula; did I not often tell you that some day I should
return to pay you out for all the thrashings you gave me? Ah, Master
Mariano, you see I have kept my word!' Then it began to laugh again.
'May ten thousand curses light on your head!' I shouted. 'If you wish
for my life, Mula, take it and be for ever damned; or else let me pass,
and go back to Satan, your master, and tell him from me to keep a
stricter watch on your movements; for why should the stench of purgatory
be brought to my nostrils before my time! And now, hateful ghost, what
more have you got to say to me?' At this speech the ghost shouted with
laughter, slapping its thighs, and doubling itself up with mirth. At
last, when it was able to speak, it said, 'Enough of this fooling,
Mariano. I did not intend frightening you so much; and it is no great
matter if I have laughed a little at you now, for you have often made
me cry. I stopped you because I had something important to say. Go to
my mother and tell her you have seen and spoken with me; tell her to
pay for another mass for my soul's repose, for after that I shall be
out of purgatory. If she has no money lend her a few dollars for the
mass, and I will repay you, old man, in another world.'

"This it said and vanished. I lifted my whip, but needed not to strike
my horse, for not a bird that has wings could fly faster than he now
flew with me on his back. No path was before me, nor did I know where
we were going. Through rushes and through thickets, over burrows of
wild animals, stones, rivers, marshes, we flew as if all the devils
that are on the earth and under it were at our heels; and when the
horse stopped it was at my own door. I stayed not to unsaddle him,
but, cutting the surcingle with my knife, left him to shake the saddle
off; then with the bridle I hammered on the door, shouting to my wife
to open. I heard her fumbling for the tinder-box. 'For the love of
Heaven, woman, strike no light,' I cried. '_Santa Barbara bendita_!
have you seen a ghost?' she exclaimed, opening to me. 'Yes,' I replied,
rushing in and bolting the door, 'and had you struck a light you would
now have been a widow.'

"For thus it is, sirs, the man who after seeing a ghost is confronted
with a light immediately drops down dead."

I made no sceptical remarks, and did not even shake my head. The
circumstances of the encounter were described by Mariano with such
graphic power and minuteness that it was impossible not to believe his
story. Yet some things in it afterwards struck me as somewhat absurd;
that straw hat, for instance, and it also seemed strange that a person
of Mula's disposition should have been so much improved in temper by
his sojourn in a warmer place.

"Talking of ghosts----" said Laralde, the other man--but proceeded no
further, for I interrupted him. Laralde was a short, broad-shouldered
man, with bow legs and bushy grey whiskers; he was called by his
familiars Lechuza (owl) on account of his immense, round, tawny-coloured
eyes, which had a tremendous staring power in them.

I thought we had had enough of the supernatural by this time.

"My friend," I said, "pardon me for interrupting you; but there will
be no sleep for us to-night if we have any more stories about spirits
from the other world."

"Talking of ghosts----" resumed Lechuza, without noticing my remark,
and this nettled me; so I cut in once more:

"I protest that we have heard quite enough about them," I said. "This
conversation was only to be about rare and curious things. Now, visitors
from the other world are very common. I put it to you, my friends--have
you not all seen more ghosts than lampalaguas drawing foxes with their
breath?"

"I have seen that once only," said Rivarola gravely. "I have often
seen ghosts."

The others also confessed to having seen more than one ghost apiece.

Lechuza sat inattentive, smoking his cigarette, and when we had all
done speaking began again.

"Talking of ghosts----"

Nobody interrupted him this time, though he seemed to expect it, for
he made a long, deliberate pause.

"Talking of ghosts," he repeated, staring around him triumphantly, "I
once had an encounter with a strange being that was _not_ a ghost.
I was a young man then--young and full of the fire, strength, and
courage of youth--for what I am now going to relate happened over
twenty years ago. I had been playing cards at a friend's house, and
left it at midnight to ride to my father's house, a distance of five
leagues. I had quarrelled that evening and left a loser, burning with
anger against the man who had cheated and insulted me, and with whom
I was not allowed to fight. Vowing vengeance on him, I rode away at
a fast gallop; the night being serene, and almost as light as day, for
the moon was at its full. Suddenly I saw before me a huge man sitting
on a white horse, which stood perfectly motionless directly in my path.
I dashed on till I came near him, then shouted aloud. 'Out of my path,
friend, lest I ride over you'; for I was still raging in my heart.

"Seeing that he took no notice of my words, I dug my spurs into my
horse and hurled myself against him; then at the very moment my horse
struck his with a tremendous shock, I brought down my iron whip-handle
with all the force that was in me upon his head. The blow rang as if
I had struck upon an anvil, while at the same moment he, without
swerving, clutched my cloak with both hands. I could feel that they
were bony, hard hands, armed with long, crooked, sharp talons like an
eagle's, which pierced through my cloak into my flesh. Dropping my
whip, I seized him by the throat, which seemed scaly and hard, between
my hands, and thus, locked together in a desperate struggle, we swayed
this way and that, each trying to drag the other from his seat till
we came down together with a crash upon the earth. In a moment we were
disengaged and on our feet. Quick as lightning flashed out his long,
sharp weapon, and, finding I was too late to draw mine, I hurled
myselfagainst him, seizing his armed hand in both mine before he could
strike.

"For a few moments he stood still, glaring at me out of a pair of eyes
that shone like burning coals; then, mad with rage, he flung me off
my feet and whirled me round and round like a ball in a sling, and
finally cast me from him to a distance of a hundred yards, so great
was his strength. I was launched with tremendous force into the middle
of some thorny bushes, but had no sooner recovered from the shock than
out I burst with a yell of rage and charged him again. For, you will
hardly believe it, sirs, by some strange chance I had carried away his
weapon, firmly grasped in my hands. It was a heavy two-edged dagger,
sharp as a needle, and while I grasped the hilt I felt the strength
and fury of a thousand fighting-men in me. As I advanced he retreated
before me, until, seizing the topmost boughs of a great thorny bush,
he swung his body to one side and wrenched it out of the earth by the
roots. Swinging the bush with the rapidity of a whirlwind round his
head, he advanced against me and dealt a blow that would have crushed
me had it descended on me; but it fell too far, for I had dodged under
it to close with him, and delivered a stab with such power that the
long weapon was buried to its hilt in his bosom. He uttered a deafening
yell, and at the same moment a torrent of blood spouted forth, scalding
my face like boiling water, and drenching my clothes through to the
skin. For a moment I was blinded; but when I had dashed the blood from
my eyes and looked round he had vanished, horse and all.

"Then, mounting my horse, I rode home and told everyone what had
happened, showing the knife, which I still carried in my hand. Next
day all the neighbours gathered at my house, and we rode in company
to the spot where the fight had taken place. There we found the bush
torn up by the roots, and all the earth about it ploughed up where we
had fought. The ground was also dyed with blood for several yards
round, and where it had fallen the grass was withered up to the roots,
as if scorched with fire. We also picked up a cluster of hairs--long,
wiry, crooked hairs, barbed at the ends like fish-hooks; also three
or four scales like fish-scales, only rougher, and as large as doubloons.
The spot where the fight took place is now called _La Cañada del
Diablo,_ and I have heard that since that day the devil has never
appeared corporeally to fight any man in the Banda Orientál."

Lechuza's narrative gave great satisfaction. I said nothing, feeling
half stupid with amazement, for the man apparently told it in the full
conviction that it was true, while the other listeners appeared to
accept every word of it with the most implicit faith. I began to feel
very melancholy, for evidently they expected something from me now,
and what to tell them I knew not. It went against my conscience to be
the only liar amongst these exceedingly veracious Orientals, and so
I could not think of inventing anything.

"My friends," I began at length, "I am only a young man; also a native
of a country where marvellous things do not often happen, so that I
can tell you nothing to equal in interest the stories I have heard.
I can only relate a little incident which happened to me in my own
country before I left it. It is trivial, perhaps, but will lead me to
tell you something about London--that great city you have all heard
of."

"Yes, we have heard of London; it is in England, I believe. Tell us
your story about London," said Blas encouragingly.

"I was very young--only fourteen years old," I continued, flattering
myself that my modest introduction had not been ineffective, "when one
evening I came to London from my home. It was in January, in the middle
of winter, and the whole country was white with snow."

"Pardon me, Captain," said Blas, "but you have got the cucumber by the
wrong end. We say that January is in summer."

"Not in my country, where the seasons are reversed," I said.

"When I rose next morning it was dark as night, for a black fog had
fallen upon the city."

"A black fog!" exclaimed Lechuza.

"Yes, a black fog that would last all days and make it darker than
night, for though the lamps were lighted in the streets they gave no
light."

"Demons!" exclaimed Rivarola; "there is no water in the bucket. I must
go to the well for some or we shall have none to drink in the night."

"You might wait till I finish," I said.

"No, no, Captain," he returned. "Go on with your story; we must not
be without water." And, taking up the bucket, he trudged off.

"Finding it was going to be dark all day," I continued, "I determined
to go a little distance away, not out of London, you will understand,
but about three leagues from my hotel to a great hill, where I thought
the fog would not be so dark, and where there is a palace of glass."

"A palace of glass!" repeated Lechuza, with his immense round eyes
fixed sternly on me.

"Yes, a palace of glass--is there anything so wonderful in that?"

"Have you any tobacco in your pouch, Mariano?" said Blas.

"Pardon, Captain, for speaking, but the things you are telling require
a cigarette, and my pouch is empty."

"Very well, sirs, perhaps you will now allow me to proceed," I said,
beginning to feel rather vexed at these constant interruptions. "A
palace of glass large enough to hold all the people in this country."

"The Saints assist us! Your tobacco is dry as ashes, Mariano," exclaimed
Blas.

"That is not strange," said the other, "for I have had it three days
in my pocket. Proceed, Captain. A palace of glass large enough to hold
all the people in the world. And then?"

"No, I shall not proceed," I returned, losing my temper. "It is plain
to see that you do not wish to hear my story. Still, sirs, from motives
of courtesy you might have disguised your want of interest in what I
was about to relate; for I have heard it said that the Orientals are
a polite people."

"There you are saying too much, my friend," broke in Lechuza. "Remember
that we were speaking of actual experiences, not inventing tales of
black fogs and glass palaces and men walking on their heads, and I
know not what other marvels."

"Do you know that what I am telling you is untrue?" I indignantly
asked.

"Surely, friend, you do not consider us such simple persons in the
Banda Orientál as not to know truth from fable?"

And this from the fellow who had just told us of his tragical encounter
with Apollyon, a yarn which quite put Bunyan's narrative in the shade!
It was useless talking; my irritation gave place to mirth, and,
stretching myself out on the grass, I roared with laughter. The more
I thought of Lechuza's stern rebuke the louder I laughed, until I
yelled with laughter, slapping my thighs and doubling myself up after
the manner of Mariano's hilarious visitor from purgatory. My companions
never smiled. Rivarola came back with the bucket of water, and, after
staring at me for some time, said, "If the tears, which they say always
follow laughter, come in the same measure, then we shall have to sleep
in the wet."

This increased my mirth.

"If the whole country is to be informed of our hiding-place," said
Blas the timid, "we were putting ourselves to an unnecessary trouble
by running away from San Paulo."

Fresh screams of laughter greeted this protest.

"I once knew a man," said Mariano, "who had a most extraordinary laugh;
you could hear it a league away, it was so loud. His name was Aniceto,
but we called him El Burro on account of his laugh, which sounded like
the braying of an ass. Well, sirs, he one day burst out laughing, like
the Captain here, at nothing at all, and fell down dead. You see, the
poor man had aneurism of the heart."

At this I fairly yelled, then, feeling quite exhausted, I looked
apprehensively at Lechuza, for this important member of the quartet
had not yet spoken.

With his immense, unspeakably serious eyes fixed on me, he remarked
quietly, "And this, my friends, is the man who says it is wrong to
steal horses!"

But I was past shrieking now. Even this rich specimen of topsy-turvy
Banda Orientál morality only evoked a faint gurgling as I rolled about
on the grass, my sides aching, as if I had received a good bruising.




CHAPTER XX


Day had just dawned when I rose to join Mariano at the fire he had
already kindled to heat the water for his early _maté_. I did not
like the idea of lying there concealed amongst the trees like some
hunted animal for an indefinite time; moreover, I had been advised by
Santa Coloma to proceed directly to the Lomas de Rocha, on the south
coast, in the event of a defeat, and this now seemed to me the best
thing to do. It had been very pleasant lying there "under the greenwood
tree," while those veracious stories of hags, lampalaguas, and
apparitions had proved highly entertaining; but a long spell, a whole
month perhaps, of that kind of life was not to be thought of; and if
I did not get to Rocha now, before the rural police were set to catch
runaway rebels, it would perhaps be impossible to do so later on. I
determined, therefore, to go my own way, and, after drinking bitter
_maté_, I caught and saddled the dun horse. I really had not
deserved the severe censure Lechuza had passed on me the previous
evening in reference to horse-stealing, for I had taken the dun with
very little more compunction than one is accustomed to feel in England
when "borrowing" an umbrella on a rainy day. To all people in all parts
of the world, a time comes when to appropriate their neighbour's goods
is held not only justifiable, but even meritorious; to Israelites in
Egypt, Englishmen under a cloud in their own moist island, and to
Orientals running away after a fight. By keeping the dun over thirty
hours in my possession I had acquired a kind of prescriptive right to
it, and now began to look on it as my very own; subsequent experience
of his endurance and other good qualities enables me to endorse the
Oriental saying that a "stolen horse carries you well."

Bidding farewell to my companions in defeat, who had certainly not
been frightened out of their imaginations, I rode forth just when it
was beginning to grow light. Roads and houses I studiously avoided,
travelling on at an easy gallop, which took me about ten miles an hour,
till noon; then I rested at a small _rancho_, where I fed and watered my
horse and recruited my own energies with roast beef and bitter _maté_. On
again till dark; by that time I had covered about forty miles, and began
to feel both hungry and tired. I had passed several _ranchos_ and
_estancia_ houses, but was shy of seeking entertainment at any of them,
and so went farther, only to fare worse. When the brief twilight was
darkening to night I came upon a broad cart-track, leading, I suppose, to
Montevideo from the eastern part of the country, and, seeing a long, low
_rancho_ near it, which I recognized as a _pulperia_, or store, by the
flagstaff planted before it, I resolved to purchase some refreshment for
myself, then to ride on a mile or two and spend the night under the
stars--a safe roof if an airy one. Tying my horse to the gate, I went
into the porch-like projection at the end of the _rancho_, which I found
divided from the interior by the counter, with its usual grating of
thick iron bars to protect the treasures of gin, rum, and comestibles
from drunken or quarrelsome customers. As soon as I came into the porch
I began to regret having alighted at the place, for there, standing
at the counter, smoking and drinking, were about a dozen very
rough-looking men. Unfortunately for me, they had tied their horses
under the shadow of a clump of trees some distance from the gate, so
that I had missed seeing them on my arrival. Once amongst them, however,
my only plan was to disguise my uneasiness, be very polite, get my
refreshments, then make my escape as speedily as possible. They stared
rather hard at me, but returned my salutation courteously; then going
to a disengaged corner of the counter, I rested my left elbow on it
and called for bread, a box of sardines, and a tumbler of wine.

"If you will join me, señores, the table is spread," said I; but they
all declined my invitation with thanks, and I began to eat my bread
and sardines.

They appeared to be all persons living in the immediate neighbourhood,
for they addressed each other familiarly and were conversing about
love matters. One of them, however, soon dropped out of the
conversation, and, edging away from the others, stood a little space
apart, leaning against the wall on the side of the porch farthest from
me. I began to notice this man very particularly, for it was plain to
see that I had excited his interest in an extraordinary manner, and
I did not like his scrutiny. He was, without exception, the most
murderous-looking villain I have ever had the misfortune to meet: that
was the deliberate opinion I came to before I formed a closer
acquaintance with him. He was a broad-chested, powerful-looking man
of medium height; his hands he kept concealed under the large cloth
_poncho_ he wore, and he had on a slouch hat that just allowed
his eyes to be seen under the rim. They were truculent, yellowish-green
eyes, that seemed to grow fiery and dim and fiery again by turns, yet
never for a single instant were they averted from my face. His black
hair hung to his shoulders, and he also had a bristly moustache, which
did not conceal his brutal mouth, nor was there any beard to hide his
broad, swarthy jowl. His jaws were the only part of him that had any
motion, while he stood there, still as a bronze statue, watching me.
At intervals he ground his teeth, after which he would slap his lips
together two or three times, while a slimy froth, most sickening to
see, gathered at the corners of his mouth.

"Gandara, you are not drinking," said one of the gauchos, turning to
him. He shook his head slightly without speaking or taking his eyes
off my face; whereupon the man who had spoken smiled and resumed his
conversation with the others.

The long, intense, soul-trying scrutiny this brutal wretch had subjected
me to came to a very sudden end. Quick as lightning a long, broad knife
flashed out from its concealment under his _poncho_, and with one
cat-like bound he was before me, the point of his horrid weapon touching
my _poncho_ just over the pit of my stomach.

"Do not move, rebel," he said in a husky voice. "If you move one hair's
breadth, that moment you die."

The other men all ceased talking and looked on with some interest, but
did not offer to interfere or make any remark.

For one moment I felt as if an electric shock had gone through me, and
then instantly I was calm--never, in fact, have I felt more calm and
collected than at that terrible moment. 'Tis a blessed instinct of
self-preservation which nature has provided us with; feeble, timid men
possess it in common with the strong and brave, as weak, persecuted
wild animals have it as well as those that are fierce and bloodthirsty.
It is the calm which comes without call when death suddenly and
unexpectedly rises up to stare us in the face; it tells us that there
is one faint chance which a premature attempt to escape or even a
slight agitation will destroy.

"I have no wish to move, friend," I said, "but I am curious to know
why you attack me?"

"Because you are a rebel. I have seen you before, you are one of Santa
Coloma's officers. Here you shall stand with this knife touching you
till you are arrested, or else with this knife in you here you shall
die."

"You are making a mistake," I said.

"Neighbours," said he, speaking to the others, but without taking his
eyes from my face, "will you tie this man hand and foot while I stand
before him to prevent him from drawing any weapon he may have concealed
under his _poncho_?"

"We have not come here to arrest travellers," returned one of the men.
"If he is a rebel it is no concern of ours. Perhaps you are mistaken,
Gandara."

"No, no, I am not mistaken," he returned. "He shall not escape. I saw
him at San Paulo with these eyes--when did they ever deceive me? If
you refuse to assist me, then go one of you to the Alcalde's house and
tell him to come without delay, while I keep guard here."

After a little discussion one of the men offered to go and inform the
Alcalde. When he had left, I said, "My friend, may I finish my meal?
I am hungry, and had just begun to eat when you drew your knife against
me."

"Yes; eat," he said; "only keep your hands well up so that I can see
them. Perhaps you have a weapon at your waist."

"I have not," I said, "for I am an inoffensive person and do not require
weapons."

"Tongues were made to lie," he returned, truly enough. "If I see you
drop your hand lower than the counter I shall rip you up. We shall
then be able to see whether you digest your food or not."

I began to eat and sip my wine, still with those brutal eyes on my
face and the keen knife-point touching my _poncho_. There was now
a ghastly look of horrible excitement on his face, while his
teeth-grinding performances became more frequent and the slimy froth
dropped continually from the corners of his mouth on to his bosom. I
dared not look at the knife, because a terrible impulse to wrest it
out of his hands kept rising in me. It was almost too strong to be
overcome, yet I knew that even the slightest attempt to escape would
be fatal to me; for the fellow was evidently thirsty for my blood and
only wanted an excuse to run me through. But what, I thought, if he
were to grow tired of waiting, and, carried away by his murderous
instincts, to plunge his weapon into me? In that case I should die
like a dog, without having availed myself of my one chance of escape
through over-caution. These thoughts were maddening, still through it
all I laboured to observe an outwardly calm demeanour.

My supper was done. I began to feel strangely weak and nervous. My
lips grew dry; I was intensely thirsty and longed for more wine, yet
dared not take it for fear that in my excited state even a very moderate
amount of alcohol might cloud my brain.

"How long will it take your friend to return with the Alcalde?" I asked
at length.

Gandara made no reply. "A long time," said one of the other men. "I,
for one, cannot wait till he comes," and after that he took his
departure. One by one they now began to drop away, till only two men
besides Gandara remained in the porch. Still that murderous wretch
kept before me like a tiger watching its prey, or rather like a wild
boar, gnashing and foaming, and ready to rip up its adversary with
horrid tusk.

At length I made an appeal to him, for I began to despair of the Alcalde
coming to deliver me. "Friend," I said, "if you will allow me to speak,
I can convince you that you are mistaken. I am a foreigner, and know
nothing about Santa Coloma."

"No, no," he interrupted, pressing the knife-point warningly against
my stomach, then suddenly withdrawing it as if about to plunge it intome.
"I know you are a rebel. If I thought the Alcalde were not coming
I would run you through at once and cut your throat afterwards. It is
a virtue to kill a Blanco traitor, and if you do not go bound hand and
foot from here then here you must die. What, do you dare to say that
I did not see you at San Paulo--that you are not an officer of Santa
Coloma? Look, rebel, I will swear on this cross that I saw you there."

Suiting the action to the word, he raised the hilt of the weapon to
his lips to kiss the guard, which with the handle formed a cross. That
pious action was the first slip he had made, and gave the first
opportunity that had come to me during all that terrible interview.
Before he had ceased speaking, the conviction that my time had come
flashed like lightning through my brain. Just as his slimy lips kissed
the hilt, my right hand dropped to my side and grasped the handle of
my revolver under my _poncho_. He saw the movement, and very
quickly recovered the handle of his knife. In another second of time
he would have driven the blade through me; but that second was all I
now required. Straight from my waist, and from under my _poncho_,
I fired. His knife fell ringing on to the floor; he swerved, then fell
back, coming to the ground with a heavy thud. Over his falling body
I leaped, and almost before he had touched the ground was several yards
away, then, wheeling round, I found the other two men rushing out after
me.

"Back!" I shouted, covering the foremost of the two with my revolver.

They instantly stood still.

"We are not following you, friend," said one, "but only wish to get
out of the place."

"Back, or I fire!" I repeated, and then they retreated into the porch.
They had stood by unconcerned while their cut-throat comrade Gandara
was threatening my life, so that I naturally felt angry with them.

I sprang upon my horse, but, instead of riding away at once, stood for
some minutes by the gate watching the two men. They were kneeling by
Gandara, one opening his clothes to look for the wound, the other
holding a flaring candle over his ashen, corpse-like face.

"Is he dead?" I asked.

One of the men looked up and answered, "It appears so."

"Then," I returned, "I make you a present of his carcass."

After that, digging my spurs into my horse, I galloped away.

Some readers might imagine, after what I had related, that my sojourn
in the Purple Land had quite brutalised me; I am happy to inform them
that it was not so. Whatever a man's individual character may happen
to be, he has always a strong inclination in him to reply to an attack
in the spirit in which it is made. He does not call the person who
playfully ridicules his foibles a whitened sepulchre or an unspeakable
scoundrel, and the same principle holds good when it comes to actual
physical fighting. If a French gentleman were to call me out, I daresay
I should go to the encounter twirling my moustache, bowing down to the
ground, all smiles and compliments; and that I should select my rapier
with a pleasant kind of feeling, like that experienced by the satirist
about to write a brilliant article while picking out a pen with a
suitable nib. On the other hand, if a murderous brute with truculent
eyes and gnashing teeth attempts to disembowel me with a butcher's
knife, the instinct of self-preservation comes out in all its old
original ferocity, inspiring the heart with such implacable fury that
after spilling his blood I could spurn his loathsome carcass with my
foot. I do not wonder at myself for speaking those savage words. That
he was past recall seemed certain, yet not a shade of regret did I
feel at his death. Joy at the terrible retribution I had been able to
inflict on the murderous wretch was the only emotion I experienced
when galloping away into the darkness--such joy that I could have sung
and shouted aloud had it not seemed imprudent to indulge in such
expression of feeling.




CHAPTER XXI


After my terrible adventure I did not rest badly that night, albeit
I slept on an empty stomach (the sardines counting as nothing), and
under the vast, void sky, powdered with innumerable stars. And when
I proceeded next day on my journey, _God's light_, as the pious
Orientals call the first wave of glory with which the rising sun floods
the world, had never seemed so pleasant to my eyes, nor had earth ever
looked fresher or lovelier, with the grass and bushes everywhere hung
with starry lace, sparkling with countless dewy gems, which the
_epeiras_ had woven overnight. Life seemed very sweet to me on
that morning, so softening my heart that when I remembered the murderous
wretch who had endangered it I almost regretted that he was now probably
blind and deaf to nature's sweet ministrations.

Before noon I came to a large, thatched house, with clumps of shady
trees growing near it, also surrounded with brushwood fences and sheep
and cattle enclosures.

The blue smoke curling peacefully up from the chimney and the white
gleam of the walls through the shady trees--for this _rancho_
actually boasted a chimney and whitewashed walls--looked exceedingly
inviting to my tired eyes. How pleasant a good breakfast, with a long
siesta in the shade after it, would be, thought I; but, alas! was I
not pursued by the awful phantoms of political vengeance? Uncertain
whether to call or not, my horse jogged straight on towards the house,
for a horse always knows when his rider is in doubt and never fails
at such times to give his advice. It was lucky for me that on this
occasion I condescended to take it. "I will, at all events, call for
a drink of water and see what the people are like," I thought, and in
a few minutes I was standing at the gate, apparently an object of great
interest to half a dozen children ranging from two to thirteen years
old, all staring at me with wide-open eyes. They had dirty faces, the
smallest one dirty legs also, for he or she wore nothing but a small
shirt. The next in size had a shirt supplemented with a trousers-like
garment reaching to the knees; and so on, progressively, up to the
biggest boy, who wore the cast-off parental toggery, and so, instead
of having too little on, was, in a sense, overdressed. I asked this
youngster for a can of water to quench my thirst and a stick of fire
to light my cigar. He ran into the kitchen, or living-room, and by and
by came out again without either water or fire. "_Papita_ wishes
you to come in to drink _maté_," said he.

Then I dismounted, and, with the careless air of a blameless,
non-political person, strode into the spacious kitchen, where an immense
cauldron of fat was boiling over a big fire on the hearth; while beside
it, ladle in hand, sat a perspiring, greasy-looking woman of about
thirty. She was engaged in skimming the fat and throwing the scum on
the fire, which made it blaze with a furious joy and loudly cry out
in a crackling voice for more; and from head to feet she was literally
bathed in grease--certainly the most greasy individual I had ever seen.
It was not easy under the circumstances to tell the colour of her skin,
but she had fine large Juno eyes, and her mouth was unmistakably
good-humoured, as she smiled when returning my salutation. Her husband
sat on the clay floor against the wall, his bare feet stretched straight
out before him, while across his lap lay an immense surcingle, twenty
inches broad at least, of a pure white, untanned hide; and on it he
was laboriously working a design representing an ostrich hunt, with
threads of black skin. He was a short, broad-shouldered man with
reddish-grey hair, stiff, bristly whiskers and moustache of the same
hue, sharp blue eyes, and a nose decidedly upturned.

He wore a red cotton handkerchief tied on his head, a blue check shirt,
and a shawl wound round his body in place of the _chiripà_ usually
worn by native peasants. He jerked out his _"Buen dia"_ to me in
a short, quick, barking voice, and invited me to sit down.

"Cold water is bad for the constitution at this hour," he said. "We
will drink _maté."_

There was such a rough, burr-like sound in his speech that I at once
concluded he was a foreigner, or hailed from some Oriental district
corresponding to our Durham or Northumberland.

"Thank you," I said, "a _maté_ is always welcome. I am an Oriental
in that respect if in nothing else." For I wished everyone I met to
know that I was not a native.

"Right, my friend," he exclaimed. _"Maté_ is the best thing in
this country. As for the people, they are not worth cursing."

"How can you say such a thing," I returned. "You are a foreigner, I
suppose, but your wife is surely an Oriental."

The Juno of the grease-pot smiled and threw a ladleful of tallow on
the fire to make it roar; possibly this was meant for applause.

He waved his hand deprecatingly, the bradawl used for his work in it.

"True, friend, she is," he replied. "Women, like horned cattle, are
much the same all the world over. They have their value wherever you
find them--America, Europe, Asia. We know it. I spoke of men."

"You scarcely do women justice--

  _La mujer es un angel del cielo,"_

I returned, quoting the old Spanish song.

He barked out a short little laugh.

"That does very well to sing to a guitar," he said.

"Talking of guitars," spoke the woman, addressing me for the first
time; "while we are waiting for the _maté,_ perhaps you will sing
us a ballad. The guitar is lying just behind you."

"Señora, I do not play on it," I answered. "An Englishman goes forth
into the world without that desire, common to people of other nations,
of making himself agreeable to those he may encounter on his way; this
is why he does not learn to perform on musical instruments."

The little man stared at me; then, deliberately disencumbering himself
of surcingle, threads, and implements, he got up, advanced to me, and
held out his hand.

His grave manner almost made me laugh. Taking his hand in mine, I said:

"What am I to do with this, my friend?"

"Shake it," he replied. "We are countrymen."

We then shook hands very vigorously for some time in silence, while
his wife looked on with a smile and stirred the fat.

"Woman," he said, turning to her, "leave your grease till tomorrow.
Breakfast must be thought of. Is there any mutton in the house?"

"Half a sheep--only," she replied.

"That will do for one meal," said he. "Here, Teofilo, run and tell
Anselmo to catch two pullets--fat ones, mind. To be plucked at once.
You may look for half a dozen fresh eggs for your mother to put in the
stew. And, Felipe, go find Cosme and tell him to saddle the roan pony
to go to the store at once. Now, wife, what is wanted--rice, sugar,
vinegar, oil, raisins, pepper, saffron, salt, cloves, cummin seed,
wine, brandy--"

"Stop one moment," I cried. "If you think it necessary to get provisions
enough for an army to give me breakfast, I must tell you that I draw
the line at brandy. I never touch it--in this country."

He shook hands with me again.

"You are right," he said. "Always stick to the native drink, wherever
you are, even if it is black draught. Whisky in Scotland, in the Banda
Orientál rum--that's my rule."

The place was now in a great commotion, the children saddling ponies,
shouting in pursuit of fugitive chickens, and my energetic host ordering
his wife about.

After the boy was despatched for the things and my horse taken care
of, we sat for half an hour in the kitchen sipping _maté_ and
conversing very agreeably. Then my host took me out into his garden
behind the house to be out of his wife's way while she was engaged
cooking breakfast, and there he began talking in English.

"Twenty-five years I have been on this continent," said he, telling
me his history, "eighteen of them in the Banda Orientál."

"Well, you have not forgotten your language," I said. "I suppose you
read?"

"Read! What! I would as soon think of wearing trousers. No, no, my
friend, never read. Leave politics alone. When people molest you,
shoot 'em--those are my rules. Edinburgh was my home. Had enough
reading when I was a boy; heard enough psalm-singing, saw enough
scrubbing and scouring to last me my lifetime. My father was a bookseller
in the High Street, near the Cowgate--you know! Mother, she was
pious—they were all pious. Uncle, a minister, lived with us. That
was all worse than purgatory to me. I was educated at the High
School--intended for the ministry, ha, ha! My only pleasure was to
get a book of travels in some savage country, skulk into my room, throw
off my boots, light a pipe, and lie on the floor reading--locked up from
everyone. Sundays just the same, They called me a sinner, said I was
going to the devil--fast. It was my nature. They didn't understand--kept
on ding-donging in my ears. Always scrubbing, scouring--you might have
eaten your dinner off the floor; always singing psalms--praying--
scolding. Couldn't bear it; ran away at fifteen, and have never heard a
word from home since. What happened? I came here, worked, saved, bought
land, cattle; married a wife, lived as I liked to live--am happy. There's
my wife--mother of six children--you have seen her yourself, a woman for
a man to be proud of. No ding-donging, black looks, scouring from Monday
to Saturday--you couldn't eat your dinner off my kitchen floor. There are
my children, six of 'em, all told, boys and girls, healthy, dirty as
they like to be, happy as the day's long; and here am I, John
Carrickfergus--Don Juan all the country over, my surname no native can
pronounce--respected, feared, loved; a man his neighbour can rely on to
do him a good turn; one who never hesitates about putting a bullet in any
vulture, wild cat, or assassin that crosses his path. Now you know all."

"An extraordinary history," I said, "but I suppose you teach your
children something?"

"Teach 'em nothing," he returned, with emphasis. "All we think about
in the old country are books, cleanliness, clothes; what's good for
soul, brain, stomach; and we make 'em miserable. Liberty for
everyone--that's my rule. Dirty children are healthy, happy children.
If a bee stings you in England, you clap on fresh dirt to cure the
pain. Here we cure all kinds of pain with dirt. If my child is ill I
dig up a spadeful of fresh mould and rub it well--best remedy out. I'm
not religious, but I remember _one_ miracle. The Saviour spat on
the ground and made mud with the spittle to anoint the eyes of the
blind man. Made him see directly. What does that mean? Common remedyof
the country, of course. _He_ didn't need the clay, but followed
the custom, same as in the other miracles. In Scotland dirt's
wickedness--how'd they reconcile that with Scripture? I don't say
_Nature_, mind, I say, _Scripture_, because the Bible's the
book they swear by, though they didn't write it."

"I shall think over what you say about children, and the best way to
rear them," I returned. "I needn't decide in a hurry, as I haven't any
yet."

He barked his short laugh and led me back to the house, where the
arrangements for breakfast were now completed. The children took their
meal in the kitchen, we had ours in a large, cool room adjoining it.
There was a small table laid with a spotless white cloth, and real
crockery plates and real knives and forks. There were also real glass
tumblers, bottles of Spanish wine, and snow-white _pan creollo_.
Evidently my hostess had made good use of her time. She came in
immediately after we were seated, and I scarcely recognized her; for
she was not only clean now, but good-looking as well, with that rich
olive colour on her oval face, her black hair well arranged, and her
dark eyes full of tender, loving light. She was now wearing a white
merino dress with a quaint maroon-coloured pattern on it, and a white
silk kerchief fastened with a gold brooch at her neck. It was pleasant
to look at her, and, noticing my admiring glances, she blushed when
she sat down, then laughed. The breakfast was excellent. Roast mutton
to begin, then a dish of chickens stewed with rice, nicely flavoured
and coloured with red Spanish _pimenton_. A fowl roasted or boiled,
as we eat them in England, is wasted, compared with this delicious
_guiso de potto_ which one gets in any _rancho_ in the Banda
Orient. After the meats we sat for an hour cracking walnuts,
sipping wine, smoking cigarettes, and telling amusing stories; and I
doubt whether there were three happier people in all Uruguay that
morning than the un-Scotched Scotchman, John Carrickfergus, his
un-ding-donging native wife, and their guest, who had shot his man on
the previous evening.

After breakfast I spread my _poncho_ on the dry grass under a
tree to sleep the siesta. My slumbers lasted a long time, and on waking
I was surprised to find my host and hostess seated on the grass near
me, he busy ornamenting his surcingle, she with the _maté_-cup
in her hand and a kettle of hot water beside her. She was drying her
eyes, I fancied, when I opened mine.

"Awake at last!" cried Don Juan pleasantly. "Come and drink _maté_.
Wife just been crying, you see."

She made a sign for him to hold his peace.

"Why not speak of it, Candelaria?" he said. "Where is the harm? You
see, my wife thinks you have been in the wars--a Santa Coloma man
running away to save his throat."

"How does she make that out?" I asked in some confusion and very much
surprised.

"How! Don't you know women? You said nothing about where you had
been--prudence. That was one thing. Looked confused when we talked of
the revolution--not a word to say about it. More evidence. Your
_poncho_, lying there, shows two big cuts in it. 'Torn by thorns,'
said I. 'Sword-cuts,' said she. We were arguing about it when you
woke."

"She guessed rightly," I said, "and I am ashamed of myself for not
telling you before. But why should your wife cry?"

"Woman like--woman like," he answered, waving his hand. "Always ready
to cry over the beaten one--that is the only politics they know."

"Did I not say that woman is an angel from heaven," I returned; then,
taking her hand, I kissed it. "This is the first time I have kissed
a married woman's hand, but the husband of such a wife will know better
than to be jealous."

"Jealous--ha, ha!" he laughed. "It would have made me prouder if you
had kissed her cheek."

"Juan--a nice thing to say!" exclaimed his wife, slapping his hand
tenderly.

Then while we sipped _maté_ I told them the history of my campaign,
finding it necessary, when explaining my motives for joining the rebels,
to make some slight deviations from the strictest form of truth. He
agreed that my best plan was to go on to Rocha to wait there for a
passport before proceeding to Montevideo. But I was not allowed to
leave them that day; and, while we talked over our _maté_,
Candelaria deftly repaired the tell-tale cuts in my _poncho_.

I spent the afternoon making friends with the children, who proved to
be very intelligent and amusing little beggars, telling them some
nonsensical stories I invented, and listening to their bird's-nesting,
armadillo-chasing, and other adventures. Then came a late dinner, after
which the children said their prayers and retired, then we smoked and
sang songs without an accompaniment, and I finished a happy day by
sinking to sleep in a soft, clean bed.

I had announced my intention of leaving at daybreak next morning; and
when I woke, finding it already light, I dressed hastily, and, going
out, found my horse already saddled standing, with three other saddled
horses, at the gate. In the kitchen I found Don Juan, his wife, and
the two biggest boys having their early _maté_. My host told me
that he had been up an hour, and was only waiting to wish me a
prosperous journey before going out to gather up his cattle. He at
once wished me good-bye, and with his two boys went off, leaving me
to partake of poached eggs and coffee--quite an English breakfast.

I then rose and thanked the good señora for her hospitality.

"One moment," she said, when I held out my hand, and, drawing a small
silk bag from her bosom, she offered it to me. "My husband has given
me permission to present you with this at parting. It is only a small
gift, but while you are in this trouble and away from all your friends
it perhaps might be of use to you."

I did not wish to take money from her after all the kind treatment I
had received, and so allowed the purse to lie on my open hand where
she had placed it.

"And if I cannot accept it----" I began.

"Then you will hurt me very much," she replied. "Could you do that
after the kind words you spoke yesterday?"

I could not resist, but, after putting the purse away, took her hand
and kissed it.

"Good-bye, Candelaria," I said, "you have made me love your country
and repent every harsh word I have ever spoken against it."

Her hand remained in mine; she stood smiling, and did not seem to think
the last word had been spoken yet. Then, seeing her there looking so
sweet and loving, and remembering the words her husband had spoken the
day before, I stooped and kissed her cheek and lips.

"Adieu, my friend, and God be with you," she said.

I think there were tears in her eyes when I left her, but I could not
see clearly, for mine also had suddenly grown dim.

And only the day before I had felt amused at the sight of this woman
sitting hot and greasy over her work, and had called her Juno of the
grease-pot! Now, after an acquaintance of about eighteen hours, I had
actually kissed her--a wife and the mother of six children, bidding
her adieu with trembling voice and moist eyes! I know that I shall
never forget those eyes, full of sweet, pure affection and tender
sympathy, looking into mine; all my life long shall I think of
Candelaria, loving her like a sister. Could any woman in my own
ultra-civilised and excessively proper country inspire me with a feeling
like that in so short a time? I fancy not. Oh, civilisation, with your
million conventions, soul and body withering prudishnesses, vain
education for the little ones, going to church in best black clothes,
unnatural craving for cleanliness, feverish striving after comforts
that bring no comfort to the heart, are you a mistake altogether?
Candelaria and that genial runaway John Carrickfergus make me think
so. Ah, yes, we are all vainly seeking after happiness in the wrong
way. It was with us once and ours, but we despised it, for it was only
the old, common happiness which Nature gives to all her children, and
we went away from it in search of another grander kind of happiness
which some dreamer--Bacon or another--assured us we should find. We
had only to conquer Nature, find out her secrets, make her our obedient
slave, then the earth would be Eden, and every man Adam and every Woman
Eve. We are still marching bravely on, conquering Nature, but how weary
and sad we are getting! The old joy in life and gaiety of heart have
vanished, though we do sometimes pause for a few moments in our long
forced march to watch the labours of some pale mechanician seeking
after perpetual motion and indulge in a little dry, cackling laugh at
his expense.




CHAPTER XXII


After leaving John and Candelaria's home of liberty and love, nothing
further worth recording happened till I had nearly reached the desired
haven of the Lomas de Rocha, a place which I was, after all, never
destined to see except from a great distance. A day unusually brilliant
even for this bright climate was drawing to a close, it being within
about two hours of sunset, when I turned out of my way to ascend a
hill with a very long, ridge-like summit, falling away at one end,
appearing like the last sierra of a range just where it dies down into
the level plain; only in this instance the range itself did not exist.
The solitary hill was covered with short tussocks of yellow, wiry
grass, with occasional bushes, while near the summit large slabs of
sandstone appeared just above the surface, looking like gravestones
in some old village churchyard, with all their inscriptions obliterated
by time and weather. From this elevation, which was about a hundred
feet above the plain, I wished to survey the country before me, for
I was tired and hungry, so was my horse, and I was anxious to find a
resting-place before night. Before me the country stretched away in
vast undulations towards the ocean, which was not, however, in sight.
Not the faintest stain of vapour appeared on the immense crystalline
dome of heaven, while the stillness and transparency of the atmosphere
seemed almost preternatural. A blue gleam of water, south-east of where
I stood and many leagues distant, I took to be the lake of Rocha; on
the western horizon were faint blue cloud-like masses with pearly
peaks. They were not clouds, however, but the sierras of the range
weirdly named _Cuchilla de las Animas_--Ghost-haunted Mountains.
At length, like a person who puts his binocular into his pocket and
begins to look about him, I recalled my vision from its wanderings
over illimitable space to examine the objects close at hand. On the
slope of the hill, sixty yards from my standpoint, were some deep
green, dwarf bushes, each bush looking in that still brilliant sunshine
as if it had been hewn out of a block of malachite; and on the pale
purple solanaceous flowers covering them some humble-bees were feeding.
It was the humming of the bees coming distinctly to my ears that first
attracted my attention to the bushes; for so still was the atmosphere
that at that distance apart--sixty yards--two persons might have
conversed easily without raising their voices. Much farther down, about
two hundred yards from the bushes, a harrier hawk stood on the ground,
tearing at something it had captured, feeding in that savage, suspicious
manner usual with hawks, with long pauses between the bites. Over the
harrier hovered a brown milvago hawk, a vulture-like bird in its habits,
that lives by picking up unconsidered trifles. Envious at the other's
good fortune, or fearing, perhaps, that not even the crumbs or feathers
of the feast were going to be left, it was persecuting the harrier by
darting down at intervals with an angry cry and aiming a blow with its
wing. The harrier methodically ducked its head each time its tormentor
rushed down at it, after which it would tear its prey again in its
uncomfortable manner. Farther away, in the depression running along
at the foot of the hill, meandered a small stream so filled with aquatic
grasses and plants that the water was quite concealed, its course
appearing like a vivid green snake, miles long, lying there basking
in the sunshine. At the point of the stream nearest to me an old man
was seated on the ground, apparently washing himself, for he was
stooping over a little pool of water, while behind him stood his horse
with patient, drooping head, occasionally switching off the flies with
its tail. A mile farther on stood a dwelling, which looked to me like
an old _estancia_ house, surrounded by large shade trees growing
singly or in irregular clumps. It was the only house near, but after
gazing at it for some time I concluded that it was uninhabited. For
even at that distance I could see plainly that there were no human
beings moving about it, no horse or other domestic animal near, and
there were certainly no hedges or enclosures of any description.

Slowly I went down the hill, and to the old man sitting beside the
stream. I found him engaged in the seemingly difficult operation of
disentangling a luxuriant crop of very long hair, which had
somehow--possibly from long neglect--got itself into great confusion.
He had dipped his head into the water, and with an old comb, boasting
about seven or eight teeth, was laboriously and with infinite patience
drawing out the long hairs, a very few at a time. After saluting him,
I lit a cigarette, and, leaning on the neck of my horse, watched his
efforts for some time with profound interest. He toiled away in silence
for five or six minutes, then dipped his head in the water again, and,
while carefully wringing the wet out, he remarked that my horse looked
tired.

"Yes," I replied; "so is his rider. Can you tell me who lives in that
_estancia_?"

"My master," he returned laconically.

"Is he a good-hearted man--one who will give shelter to a stranger?"
I asked.

He took a very long time to answer me, then said:

"He has nothing to say about such matters."

"An invalid?" I remarked.

Another long pause; then he shook his head and tapped his forehead
significantly; after which he resumed his mermaid task.

"Demented?" said I.

He elevated an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.

After a long silence, for I was anxious not to irritate him with too
much questioning, I ventured to remark:

"Well, they will not set the dogs on me, will they?"

He grinned, and said that it was an establishment without dogs.

I paid him for his information with a cigarette, which he took very
readily, and seemed to think smoking a pleasant relief after his
disentangling labours.

"An _estancia_ without dogs, and where the master has nothing to
say--that sounds strange," I remarked tentatively, but he puffed on
in silence.

"What is the name of the house?" I said, after remounting my horse.

"It is a house without a name," he replied; and after this rather
unsatisfactory interview I left him and slowly went on to the
_estancia_.

On approaching the house I saw that there had formerly been a large
plantation behind it, of which only a few dead stumps now remained,
the ditches that had enclosed them being now nearly obliterated. The
place was ruinous and overgrown with weeds. Dismounting, I led my horse
along a narrow path through a perfect wilderness of wild sunflowers,
horehound, red-weed, and thorn-apple, up to some poplar trees where
there had once been a gate, of which only two or three broken posts
remained standing in the ground. From the old gate the path ran on,
still through weeds, to the door of the house, which was partly of
stone and partly of red brick, with a very steep, sloping, tiled roof.
Beside the ruined gate, leaning against a post, with the hot afternoon
sun shining on her uncovered head, stood a woman in a rusty-black
dress. She was about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, and had an
unutterably weary, desponding expression on her face, which was
colourless as marble, except for the purple stains under her large,
dark eyes. She did not move when I approached her, but raised her
sorrowful eyes to my face, apparently feeling little interest in my
arrival.

I took off my hat to salute her, and said:

"Señora, my horse is tired, and I am seeking for a resting-place; can
I have shelter under your roof?"

"Yes, _caballero_; why not?" she returned in a voice even more
significant of sorrow than her countenance.

I thanked her, and waited for her to lead the way; but she still
remained standing before me with eyes cast down, and a hesitating,
troubled look on her face.

"Señora," I began, "if a stranger's presence in the house would be
inconvenient--"

"No, no, señor, it is not that," she interrupted quickly. Then, sinking
her voice almost to a whisper, she said: "Tell me, señor, have you
come from the department of Florida? Have you--have you been at San
Paulo?"

I hesitated a little, then answered that I had.

"On which side?" she asked quickly, with a strange eagerness in her
voice.

"Ah, señora," I returned, "why do you ask me, only a poor traveller
who comes for a night's shelter, such a question--"

"Why? Perhaps for your good, señor. Remember, women are not like
men--implacable. A shelter you shall have, señor; but it is best that
I should know."

"You are right," I returned, "forgive me for not answering you at once.
I was with Santa Coloma--the rebel."

She held out her hand to me, but, before I could take it, withdrew it
and, covering her face, began to cry. Presently recovering herself and
turning towards the house, she asked me to follow.

Her gestures and tears had told me eloquently enough that she too
belonged to the unhappy Blanco party.

"Have you, then, lost some relation in this fight, señora?" I asked.

"No, señor," she replied; "but if our party had triumphed, perhaps
deliverance would have come to me. Ah, no; I lost my relations long
ago--all except my father. You shall know presently, when you see him,
why our cruel enemies refrained from shedding _his_ blood."

By that time we had reached the house. There had once been a verandah
to it, but this had long fallen away, leaving the walls, doors, and
windows exposed to sun and rain. Lichen covered the stone walls, while,
in the crevices and over the tiled roof, weeds and grass had flourished;
but this vegetation had died with the summer heats and was now parched
and yellow. She led me into a spacious room, so dimly lighted from the
low door and one small window that it seemed quite dark to me coming
from the bright sunlight. I stood for a few moments trying to accustom
my eyes to the gloom, while she, advancing to the middle of the
apartment, bent down and spoke to an aged man seated in a leather-bound
easy-chair.

"Papa," she said, "I have brought in a young man--a stranger who has
asked for shelter under our roof. Welcome him, papa."

Then she straightened herself, and, passing behind the chair, stood
leaning on it, facing me.

"I wish you good day, señor," I said, advancing with a little
hesitation.

There before me sat a tall, bent old man, wasted almost to a skeleton,
with a grey, desolate face and long hair and beard of a silver
whiteness. He was wrapped in a light-coloured _poncho_, and wore
a black skull-cap on his head. When I spoke he leant back in his seatand
began scanning my face with strangely fierce, eager eyes, all the
time twisting his long, thin fingers together in a nervous, excited
manner.

"What, Calixto," he exclaimed at length, "is this the way you come
into my presence? Ha, you thought I would not recognise you! Down--down,
boy, on your knees!"

I glanced at his daughter standing behind him; she was watching my
face anxiously, and made a slight inclination with her head.

Taking this as an intimation to obey the old man's commands, I went
down on my knees, and touched my lips to the hand he extended.

"May God give you grace, my son," he said, with tremulous voice. Then
he continued: "What, did you expect to find your old father blind then?
I would know you amongst a thousand, Calixto. Ah, my son, my son, why
have you kept away so long? Stand, my son, and let me embrace you."

He rose up tottering from his chair and threw his arm about me; then,
after gazing into my face for some moments, deliberately kissed me on
both cheeks.

"Ha, Calixto," he continued, putting his trembling hands upon my
shoulders and gazing into my face out of his wild, sunken eyes, "do
I need ask where you have been? Where should a Peralta be but in the
smoke of the battle, in the midst of carnage, fighting for the Banda
Orientál? I did not complain of your absence, Calixto--Demetria will
tell you that I was patient through all these years, for I knew you
would come back to me at last wearing the laurel wreath of victory.
And I, Calixto, what have I worn, sitting here? A crown of nettles!
Yes, for a hundred years I have worn it--you are my witness, Demetria,
my daughter, that I have worn this crown of stinging-nettles for a
hundred years."

He sank back, apparently exhausted, in his chair, and I uttered a sigh
of relief, thinking the interview was now over. But I was mistaken.
His daughter placed a chair for me at his side. "Sit here, señor, and
talk to my father, while I have your horse taken care of," she
whispered, and then quickly glided from the room. This was rather hard
on me, I thought; but while whispering those few words she touched my
hand lightly and turned her wistful eyes with a grateful look on mine,
and I was glad for her sake that I had not blundered.

Presently the old man roused himself again and began talking eagerly,
asking me a hundred wild questions, to which I was compelled to reply,
still trying to keep up the character of the long-lost son just returned
victorious from the wars.

"Tell me where you have fought and overcome the enemy," he exclaimed,
raising his voice almost to a scream. "Where have they flown from you
like chaff before the wind?--where have you trodden them down under
your horses' hoofs?--name--name the places and the battles to me,
Calixto?"

I felt strongly inclined just then to jump up and rush out of the room,
so trying was this mad conversation to my nerves; but I thought of his
daughter Demetria's white, pathetic face, and restrained the impulse.
Then in sheer desperation I began to talk madly as himself. I thought
I would make him sick of warlike subjects. Everywhere, I cried, we had
defeated, slaughtered, scattered to the four winds of heaven, the
infamous Colorados. From the sea to the Brazilian frontier we have
been victorious. With sword, lance, and bayonet we have stormed and
taken every town from Tacuarembó to Montevideo. Every river from the
Yaguaron to the Uruguay had run red with Colorado blood. In forests
and sierras we had hunted them, flying like wild beasts from us; we
had captured them in thousands, only to cut their throats, crucify
them, blow them from guns, and tear them limb by limb to pieces with
wild horses.

I was only pouring oil on the blazing fire of his insanity.

"Aha!" he shouted, his eyes sparkling, while he wildly clutched my arm
with his skinny, claw-like hands, "did I not know--have I not said it?
Did I not fight for a hundred years, wading through blood every day,
and then at last send you forth to finish the battle? And every day
our enemies came and shouted in my ears, 'Victory--victory!' They told
me you were dead, Calixto--that their weapons had pierced you, that
they had given your flesh to be devoured of wild dogs. And I shouted
with laughter to hear them. I laughed in their faces, and clapped my
hands and cried out, 'Prepare your throats for the sword, traitors,
slaves, assassins, for a Peralta--even Calixto, devoured of wild
dogs--is coming to execute vengeance! What, will God not leave one
strong arm to strike at the tyrant's breast--one Peralta in all this
land! Fly, miscreants! Die, wretches! He has risen from the grave--he
has come back from hell, armed with hell-fire to burn your towns to
ashes--to extirpate you utterly from the earth!'"

His thin, tremulous voice had risen towards the close of this mad
speech to a reedy shriek that rang through the quiet, darkening house
like the long, shrill cry of some water-fowl heard at night in the
desolate marshes.

Then he loosened his hold on my arm and dropped back moaning and
shivering into his seat. His eyes closed, his whole frame trembled,
and he looked like a person just recovering from an epileptic fit;
then he seemed to sink to sleep. It was now getting quite dark, for
the sun had been down some time, and it was with the greatest relief
that I saw Doña Demetria gliding like a ghost into the room. She touched
me on the arm and whispered, "Come, señor, he is asleep now."

I followed her out into the fresh air, which had never seemed so fresh
before; then, turning to me, she hurriedly whispered, "Remember, señor,
that what you have told me is a secret. Say not one word of it to any
other person here."




CHAPTER XXIII


She then led me to the kitchen at the end of the house. It was one of
those roomy, old-fashioned kitchens still to be found in a few
_estancia_ houses built in colonial times, in which the fireplace,
raised a foot or two above the floor, extends the whole width of the
room. It was large and dimly lighted, the walls and rafters black with
a century's smoke and abundantly festooned with sooty cobwebs; but a
large, cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, while before it stood a
tall, gaunt woman engaged in cooking the supper and serving _maté_.
This was Ramona, an old servant on the _estancia_.

There also sat my friend of the tangled tresses, which he had evidently
succeeded in combing well out, for they now hung down quite smooth on
his back and as long as a woman's hair. Another person was also seated
near the fire, whose age might have been anything from twenty-five to
forty-five, for he had, I think, a mixture of Indian blood in his
veins, and one of those smooth, dry, dark faces that change but little
with age. He was an undersized, wiry-looking man with a small, intensely
black moustache, but no whiskers or beard. He seemed to be a person
of some consequence in the house, and when my conductress introduced
him to me as "Don Hilario," he rose to his feet and received me with
a profound bow. In spite of his excessive politeness I conceived a
feeling of distrust towards him from the moment I saw him; and this
was because his small, watchful eyes were perpetually glancing at my
face in a furtive manner, only to glance swiftly away again whenever
I looked at him; for he seemed quite incapable of meeting the gaze of
another. We drank _maté_ and talked a little, but were not a
lively party. Doña Demetria, though she sat with us, scarcely
contributed a word to the conversation; while the long-haired
man--Santos by name, and the only peon on the establishment--smoked
his cigarette and sipped his _maté_ in absolute silence.

Bony old Ramona at length dished up the supper and carried it out of
the kitchen; we followed to the large living-room, where I had been
before, and gathered round a small table; for these people, though
apparently poverty-stricken, ate their meals after the manner of
civilised beings. At the head of the table sat the fierce old
white-haired man, staring at us out of his sunken eyes as we entered.
Half rising from his seat, he mentioned to me to take a chair near
him, then, addressing Don Hilario, who sat opposite, he said, "This
is my son Calixto, just returned from the wars, where, as you know,
he has greatly distinguished himself."

Don Hilario rose and bowed gravely. Demetria took the other end of the
table, while Santos and Ramona occupied the two remaining seats.

I was greatly relieved to find that the old man's mood had changed;
there were no more wild outbursts like the one I had witnessed earlier
in the evening; only occasionally he would fix his strange, burning
eyes on me in a way that made me exceedingly uncomfortable. We began
the meal with broth, which we finished in silence; and while we ate,
Don Hilario's swift glances incessantly flew from face to face;
Demetria, pale and evidently ill at ease, keeping her eyes cast down
all the time.

"Is there no wine this evening, Ramona?" asked the old man in querulous
tones when the old woman rose to remove the broth basins.

"The _master_ has not ordered me to put any on the table," she
replied with asperity, and strongly emphasising the obnoxious word.

"What does this mean, Don Hilario?" said the old man, turning to his
neighbour. "My son has just returned after a long absence; are we to
have no wine for an occasion like this?"

Don Hilario, with a faint smile on his lips, drew a key from his pocket
and passed it silently to Ramona. She rose, muttering, from the table
and proceeded to unlock a cupboard, from which she took a bottle of
wine. Then, going round the table, she poured out half a tumblerful
for each person, excepting herself and Santos, who, to judge from his
stolid countenance, did not expect any.

"No, no," said old Peralta, "give Santos wine, and pour yourself out
a glass also, Ramona. You have both been good, faithful friends to me,
and have nursed Calixto in his infancy. It is right that you should
drink his health and rejoice with us at his return."

She obeyed with alacrity, and old Santos' wooden face almost relaxed
into a grin when he received his share of the purple fluid (I can
scarcely call it juice) which maketh glad the heart of man.

Presently old Peralta raised his glass and fixed his fierce, insane
eyes on me. "Calixto, my son, we will drink your health," he said,
"and may the curse of the Almighty fall on our enemies; may their
bodies lie where they fall, till the hawks have consumed their flesh,
and their bones have been trodden into dust by the cattle; and may
their souls be tormented with everlasting fire."

Silently they all raised their glasses to their lips, but when they
set them down again, the points of Don Hilario's black moustache were
raised as if by a smile, while Santos smacked his lips in token of
enjoyment.

After this ghastly toast nothing more was spoken by anyone at the
table. In oppressive silence we consumed the roast and boiled meat set
before us; for I dared not hazard even the most commonplace remark for
fear of rousing my volcanic host into a mad eruption. When we had
finished eating, Demetria rose and brought her father a cigarette. It
was the signal that supper was over; and immediately afterwards she
left the room, followed by the two servants. Don Hilario politely
offered me a cigarette and lit one for himself. For some minutes we
smoked in silence, until the old man gradually dropped to sleep in his
chair, after which we rose and went back to the kitchen. Even that
sombre retreat now seemed cheerful after the silence and gloom of the
dining-room. Presently Don Hilario got up, and, with many apologies
for leaving me, explaining that he had been invited to assist at a
dance at a neighbouring _estancia_, took himself off. Soon
afterwards, though it was only about nine o'clock, I was shown to a
room where a bed had been prepared for me. It was a large,
musty-smelling apartment, almost empty, there being only my bed and
a few tall, upright chairs bound with leather and black with age. The
floor was tiled, and the ceiling was covered with a dusty canopy of
cobwebs, on which flourished a numerous colony of long-legged
house-spiders. I had no disposition to sleep at that early hour, and
even envied Don Hilario, away enjoying himself with the Rocha beauties.
My door, looking out to the front, was standing wide open; the full
moon had just risen and was filling the night with its mystic splendour.
Putting out my candle, for the house was now all dark and silent, I
softly went out for a stroll. Under a clump of trees not far off I
found an old rustic bench, and sat down on it; for the place was all
such a tangled wilderness of great weeds that walking was scarcely
practicable and very unpleasant.

The old, half-ruined house in the midst of the dusky desolation began
to assume in the moonlight a singularly weird and ghost-like appearance.
Near me on one side was an irregular row of poplar-trees, and the long,
dark lines cast from them by the moon fell across a wide, open space
where the rank-growing thorn-apples predominated. In the spaces between
the broad bands made by the poplar-tree shadows, the foliage appeared
of a dim, hoary blue, starred over with the white blossoms of this
night-flowering weed. About these flowers several big, grey moths were
hovering, suddenly appearing out of the black shadows and when looked
for, noiselessly vanishing again in their mysterious ghost-like manner.
Not a sound disturbed the silence except the faint, melancholy trill
of one small night-singing cicada from somewhere near--a faint, aerial
voice that seemed to be wandering lost in infinite space, rising and
floating away in its loneliness, while earth listened, hushed into
preternatural stillness. Presently a large owl came noiselessly flying
by, and, perching on the topmost boughs of a neighbouring tree, began
hooting a succession of monotonous notes, sounding like the baying of
a bloodhound at a vast distance. Another owl by and by responded from
some far-off quarter, and the dreary duet was kept up for half an hour.
Whenever one bird ceased his solemn _boo-boo-boo-boo-boo_, I found
myself with stilled breath straining my sense to catch the answering
notes, fearing to stir lest I should lose them. A phosphorescent gleam
swept by close to my face, making me start at its sudden appearance,
then passed away, trailing a line of faint light over the dusky weeds.
The passing firefly served to remind me that I was not smoking, and
the thought then occurred to me that a cigar might possibly have the
effect of relieving me from the strange, indefinable feeling of
depression that had come over me. I put my hand into my pocket and
drew out a cigar, and bit the end off; but when about to strike a vesta
on my matchbox, I shuddered and dropped my hand.

The very thought of striking a loud, exploding match was unendurable
to me, so strangely nervous did I feel. Or possibly it was a
superstitious mood I had fallen into. It seemed to me at that moment
that I had somehow drifted into a region of mystery, peopled only by
unearthly, fantastic beings. The people I had supped with did not seem
like creatures of flesh and blood. The small, dark countenance of Don
Hilario, with its shifty glances and Mephistophelian smile; Demetria's
pale, sorrowful face; and the sunken, insane eyes of her old,
white-haired father--were all about me in the moonlight and amongst
the tangled greenery. I dared not move; I scarcely breathed; the very
weeds with their pale, dusky leaves were like things that had a ghostly
life. And while I was in this morbid condition of mind, with that
irrational fear momentarily increasing on me, I saw at a distance of
about thirty yards a dark object, which seemed to move, fluttering in
an uncertain way towards me. I gazed intently on it, but it was
motionless now, and appeared like a black, formless shadow within the
shade of the trees. Presently it came again towards me, and, passing
into the clear moonlight, revealed a human figure. It flitted across
the bright space and was lost in the shade of other trees; but it still
approached, a waving, fluttering figure, advancing and receding, but
always coming nearer. My blood turned cold in my veins; I could feel
my hair standing up on my head, until, unable to endure the terrible
suspense longer, I jumped up from my seat. A loud exclamation of terror
came from the figure, and then I saw that it was Demetria. I stammered
out an apology for frightening her by jumping up, and, finding that
I had recognised her, she advanced to me.

"Ah, you are not asleep, señor," said she quietly. "I saw you from my
window come out here more than an hour ago. Finding you did not return,
I began to grow anxious, and thought that, tired with your journey,
you had fallen asleep out here. I came to wake you, and to warn you
that it is very dangerous to lie sleeping with your face exposed to
the full moon."

I explained that I had felt restless and disinclined to sleep, regretted
that I had caused her anxiety, and thanked her for her thoughtful
kindness.

Instead of leaving me then, she sat quietly down on the bench. "Señor,"
she said, "if it is your intention to continue your journey to-morrow,
let me advise you not to do so. You can safely remain here for a few
days, for in this sad house we have no visitors."

I told her that, acting on Santa Coloma's advice, given to me before
the fight, I was going on to the Lomas de Rocha to see a person named
Florentino Blanco in that place, who would probably be able to procure
me a passport from Montevideo.

"How fortunate it is that you have told me this!" she replied. "Every
stranger now entering the Lomas is rigorously examined, and you could
not possibly escape arrest if you went there. Remain with us, señor;
it is a poor house, but we are well disposed towards you. To-morrow
Santos shall go with a letter from you to Don Florentino, who is always
ready to serve us, and he will do what you wish without seeking you."

I thanked her warmly and accepted the offer of a refuge in her house.
Somewhat to my surprise, she still remained seated on the bench.
Presently she said:

"It is natural, señor, that you should not be glad to remain in a house
so _triste_. But there will be no repetition of all you were
obliged to endure on first entering it. Whenever my father sees a young
man, a stranger to him, he receives him as he received you to-day,
mistaking him for his son. After the first day, however, he loses all
interest in the new face, becoming indifferent, and forgetting all he
has said or imagined."

This information relieved me, and I remarked that I supposed the loss
of his son had been the cause of his malady.

"You are right; let me tell you how it happened," she replied. "For
this _estancia_ must seem to you a place unlike all others in the
world, and it is only natural that a stranger should wish to know the
reason of its sad condition. I know that I can speak without fear of
these things to one who is a friend to Santa Coloma."

"And to you, I hope, señorita," I said.

"Thank you, señor. All my life has been spent here. When I was a child
my brother went into the army, then my mother died, and I was left
here alone, for the siege of Montevideo had begun and I could not go
there. At length my father received a terrible wound in action and was
brought here to die, as we thought. For months he lay on his bed, his
life trembling in the balance. Our enemies triumphed at last; the siege
was over, the Blanco leaders dead or driven into exile. My father had
been one of the bravest officers in the Blanco forces, and could not
hope to escape the general persecution. They only waited for his
recovery to arrest him and convey him to the capital, where, doubtless,
he would have been shot. While he lay in this precarious condition
every wrong and indignity was heaped upon us. Our horses were seized
by the commander of the department, our cattle slaughtered or driven
off and sold, while our house was searched for arms and visited every
week by an officer who came to report on my father's health. One reason
for this animosity was that Calixto, my brother, had escaped and
maintained a guerilla war against the government on the Brazilian
frontier. At length my father recovered so far from his wounds as to
be able to creep out for an hour every day leaning on someone for
support; then two armed men were sent to keep guard here to prevent
his escape. We were thus living in continual dread when one day an
officer came and produced a written order from the Comandante. He did
not read it to me, but said it was an order for every person in the
Rocha department to display a red flag on his house in token of
rejoicing at a victory won by the government troops. I told him that
we did not wish to disobey the Comandante's orders, but had no red
flag in the house to hang up. He answered that he had brought one for
that purpose with him. He unrolled it and fastened it to a pole; then,
climbing to the roof of the house, he raised and made it fast there.
Not satisfied with these insults, he ordered me to wake my father, who
was sleeping, so that he also might see the flag over his house. My
father came out leaning on my shoulder, and when he had cast up his
eyes and seen the red flag he turned and cursed the officer. 'Go back,'
he cried, 'to the dog, your master, and tell him that Colonel Peralta
is still a Blanco in spite of your dishonourable flag. Tell that
insolent slave of Brazil that when I was disabled I passed my sword
on to my son Calixto, who knows how to use it, fighting for his
country's independence.' The officer, who had mounted his horse by
this time, laughed, and, tossing the order from the _comandancia_
at our feet, bowed derisively and galloped away. My father picked up
the paper and read these words: 'Let there be displayed on every house
in this department a red flag, in token of joy at the happy tidings
of a victory won by the government troops, in which that recreant son
of the republic, the infamous assassin and traitor, Calixto Peralta,
was slain!' Alas, señor, loving his son above all things, hoping so
much from him, and enfeebled by long suffering, my poor father could
not resist this last blow. From that cruel moment he was deprived of
reason; and to that calamity we owe it that he was not put to death
and that our enemies ceased to persecute us."

Demetria shed some tears when telling me this tragical story. Poor
woman, she had said little or nothing about herself, yet how great and
enduring must have been her grief. I was deeply moved, and, taking her
hand, told her how deeply her sad story had pained me. Then she rose
and bade me good night with a sad smile--sad, but the first smile that
had visited her grief-clouded countenance since I had seen her. I could
well imagine that even the sympathy of a stranger must have seemed
sweet to her in that dreary isolation.

After she left me I lit my cigar. The night had lost its ghostly
character and my fantastic superstitions had vanished. I was back once
more in the world of men and women, and could only think of the
inhumanity of man to man, and of the infinite pain silently endured
by many hearts in that Purple Land. The only mystery still unsolved
in that ruinous _estancia_ was Don Hilario, who locked up the
wine and was called _master_ with bitter irony by Ramona, and who
had thought it necessary to apologise to me for depriving me of his
precious company that evening.




CHAPTER XXIV


I spent several days with the Peraltas at their desolate,
_kineless_ cattle-farm, which was known in the country round
simply as _Estancia_ or _Campos de Peralta._ Such wearisome
days they proved to me, and so anxious was I getting about Paquíta
away in Montevideo, that I was more than once on the point of giving
up waiting for the passport, which Don Florentino had promised to get
for me, and boldly venture forth without even that fig-leaf into the
open. Demetria's prudent counsels, however, prevailed, so that my
departure was put off from day to day. The only pleasure I experienced
in the house arose from the belief I entertained that my visit had
made an agreeable break in the sad, monotonous life of my gentle
hostess. Her tragical story had stirred my heart to a very deep pity,
and as I grew every day to know her better I began to appreciate and
esteem her for her own pure, gentle, self-sacrificing character.
Notwithstanding the dreary seclusion in which she had lived, seeing
no society, and with only those old servants, so primitive in their
ways, for company, there was not the slightest trace of rusticity in
her manner. That, however, is not saying much for Demetria, since in
most ladies--most women I might almost say--of Spanish origin thereis a
natural grace and dignity of manner one only expects to find in
women socially well placed in our own country. When we were all together
at meals, or in the kitchen sipping _maté,_ she was invariably
silent, always with that shadow of some concealed anxiety on her face;
but when alone with me, or when only old Santos and Ramona were present,
the cloud would be gone, her eyes would lighten up and the rare smile
come more frequently to her lips. Then, at times, she would become
almost animated in conversation, listening with lively interest to all
I told her about the great world of which she was so ignorant, and
laughing, too, at her own ignorance of things known to every town-bred
child. When these pleasant conversations took place in the kitchen the
two old servants would sit gazing at the face of their mistress,
apparently absorbed in admiration. They evidently regarded her as the
most perfect being that had ever been created; and, though there was
a ludicrous side to their simple idolatry, I ceased to wonder at it
when I began to know her better. They reminded me of two faithful dogs
always watching a beloved master's face, and showing in their eyes,
glad or pathetic, how they sympathise with all his moods. As for old
Colonel Peralta, he did nothing to make me uneasy; after the first day
he never talked to me, scarcely even noticing my presence except to
salute me in a ceremonious manner when we met at table. He would spend
his day between his easy-chair in the house and the rustic bench under
the trees, where he would sit for hours at a time, leaning forward on
his stick, his preternaturally brilliant eyes watching everything
seemingly with a keen, intelligent interest. But he would not speak.
He was waiting for his son, thinking his fierce thoughts to himself.
Like a bird blown far out over a tumultuous sea and wandering lost,
his spirit was ranging over that wild and troubled past--that half a
century of fierce passions and bloody warfare in which he had acted
a conspicuous part. And perhaps it was sometimes even more in the
future than the past--that glorious future when Calixto, lying far off
in some mountain pass, or on some swampy plain with the trailing
creepers covering his bones, should come back victorious from the wars.

My conversations with Demetria were not frequent, and before long they
ceased altogether; for Don Hilario, who was not in harmony with us,
was always there, polite, subdued, watchful, but not a man that one
could take into his heart. The more I saw of him the less I liked him;
and, though I am not prejudiced about snakes, as the reader already
knows, believing as I do that ancient tradition has made us very unjust
towards these interesting children of our universal mother, I can think
of no epithet except _snaky_ to describe this man. Wherever I
happened to be about the place he had a way of coming upon me, stealing
through the weeds on his belly as it were, then suddenly appearing
unawares before me; while something in his manner suggested a subtle,
cold-blooded, venomous nature. Those swift glances of his, which
perpetually came and went with such bewildering rapidity, reminded me,
not of the immovable, stony gaze of the serpent's lidless eyes, but
of the flickering little forked tongue, that flickers, flickers,
vanishes and flickers again, and is never for one moment at rest. Who
was this man, and what did he there? Why was he, though manifestly not
loved by anyone, absolute master of the _estancia_? He never asked
me a question about myself, for it was not in his nature to ask
questions, but he had evidently formed some disagreeable suspicions
about me that made him look on me as a possible enemy. After I had
been a few days in the house he ceased going out, and wherever I went
he was always ready to accompany me, or when I met Demetria and began
conversing with her, there he would be to take part in our conversation.

At length the piece of paper so long waited for came from the Lomas
de Rocha, and with that sacred document, testifying that I was a subject
of Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria, all fears and hesitation
were dismissed from my mind and I prepared to depart for Montevideo.

The instant Don Hilario heard that I was about to leave the
_estancia_ his manner toward me changed; he became, in a moment,
excessively friendly, pressing me to prolong my visit, also to accept
a horse from him as a gift, and saying many kind things about the
agreeable moments he had spent in my company. He completely reversed
the old saying about welcome the coming, speed the parting, guest; but
I knew very well that he was anxious enough to see the last of me.

After supper on the eve of my departure he saddled his horse and rode
off to attend a dance or gathering of some kind at a neighbouring
_estancia_, for now that he had recovered from his suspicions he
was very eager to resume the social pleasures my presence had interfered
with.

I went out to smoke a cigar amongst the trees, it being a very lovely
autumnal evening, with the light of an unclouded new moon to temper
the darkness. I was walking up and down in a narrow path amongst the
weeds, thinking of my approaching meeting with Paquíta, when old Santos
came out to me and mysteriously informed me that Doña Demetria wished
to see me. He led me through the large room where we always had our
meals, then through a narrow, dimly lighted passage into another room
I had not entered before. Though the rest of the house was now in
darkness, the old colonel having already retired to bed, it was very
light here, there being about half a dozen candles placed about the
room. In the centre of the floor, with her old face beaming with
delighted admiration, stood Ramona, gazing on another person seated
on the sofa. And on this individual I also gazed silently for some
time; for, though I recognised Demetria in her, she was so changed
that astonishment prevented me from speaking. The rusty grub had come
forth as a splendid green and gold butterfly. She had on a grass-green
silk dress, made in a fashion I had never seen before; extremely high
in the waist, puffed out on the shoulders, and with enormous bell-shaped
sleeves reaching to the elbows, the whole garment being plentifully
trimmed with very fine cream-coloured lace. Her long, thick hair, which
had hitherto always been worn in heavy plaits on her back, was now
piled up in great coils on her head and surmounted by a tortoiseshell
comb a foot high at least, and about fifteen inches broad at the top,
looking like an immense crest on her head. In her ears were curious
gold filigree pendants reaching to her bare shoulders; she also wore
a necklet of half-doubloons linked together in a chain, and heavy gold
bracelets on her arms. It was extremely quaint. Possibly this finery
had belonged to her grandmother a hundred years ago; and I daresay
that bright green was not the proper tint for Demetria's pallid
complexion; still, I must confess, at the risk of being set down as
a barbarian in matters of taste, that it gave me a shock of pleasure
to see her. She saw that I was very much surprised, and a blush of
confusion overspread her face; then, recovering her usual quiet,
self-possessed manner, she invited me to sit on the sofa by her. I
took her hand and complimented her on her appearance. She laughed a
little shy laugh, then said that, as I was going to leave her next
day, she did not wish me to remember her only as a woman in rusty
black. I replied that I would always remember her not for the colour
and fashion of her garments, but for her great, unmerited misfortunes,
her virtuous heart, and for the kindness she had shown to me. My words
evidently pleased her, and while we sat together conversing pleasantly,
before us were Ramona and Santos, one standing, the other seated, both
feasting their eyes on their mistress in her brilliant attire. Their
delight was quite open and childlike, and gave an additional zest to
the pleasure I felt. Demetria seemed pleased to think she looked well,
and was more light-hearted than I had seen her before. That antique
finery, which would have been laughable on another woman, somehow or
other seemed appropriate to her; possibly because the strange simplicity
and ignorance of the world displayed in her conversation, and that
gentle dignity of manner natural to her, would have prevented her from
appearing ridiculous in any costume.

At length, after we had partaken of _maté_ served by Ramona, the
old servants retired from the room, not without many longing, lingering
glances at their metamorphosed mistress. Then somehow or other our
conversation began to languish, Demetria becoming constrained in manner,
while that anxious shadow I had grown so familiar with came again like
a cloud over her face. Thinking that it was time to leave her, I rose
to go, and thanked her for the pleasant evening I had spent, and
expressed a wish that her future would be brighter than her past had
been.

"Thank you, Richard," she returned, her eyes cast down, and allowing
her hand to rest in mine. "But must you leave me so soon?--there is
so much I wish to say to you."

"I will gladly remain and hear it," I said, sitting down again by her
side.

"My past has been very sad, as you say, Richard, but you do not know
all," and here she put her handkerchief to her eyes. There were, I
noticed, several beautiful rings on her fingers, and the handkerchief
she held to her eyes was a dainty little embroidered thing with a lace
border; for everything in her make-up was complete and in keeping that
evening. Even the quaint little shoes she wore were embroidered with
silver thread and had large rosettes on them. After removing the
handkerchief from her face, she continued silent and with eyes cast
down, looking very pale and troubled.

"Demetria," I said, "tell me how I can serve you? I cannot guess the
nature of the trouble you speak of, but if it is one I can help you
out of, speak to me without reserve."

"Perhaps you can help me, Richard. It was of this matter I wished to
speak this evening. But now--how can I speak of it?"

"Not to one who is your friend, Demetria? I wish you could think that
the spirit of your lost brother Calixto was here in me, for I am as
ready to help you as he would have been; and I know, Demetria, that
you were very dear to him."

Her face flushed, and for a moment her eyes met mine; then, casting
them down again, she replied sadly, "It is impossible! I can say no
more to you now. My heart oppresses me so that my lips refuse to speak.
To-morrow, perhaps."

"To-morrow morning I leave you, and there will be no opportunity of
speaking," I said. "Don Hilario will be here watching you, and, though
he is so much in the house, I cannot believe that you trust him."

She started at the name of Don Hilario, and cried a little in silence;
then suddenly she rose and gave me her hand to bid good night. "You
shall know everything to-morrow, Richard," she said. "Then you will
know how much I trust you and how little I trust him. I cannot speak
myself, but I can trust Santos, who knows everything, and he shall
tell you all."

There was a sad, wistful look in her eyes when we parted that haunted
me for hours afterwards. Coming into the kitchen, I disturbed Ramona
and Santos deep in a whispered consultation. They started up, looking
somewhat confused; then, when I had lit a cigar and turned to go out,
they got up and went back to their mistress.

While I smoked I pondered over the strange evening I had passed,
wondering very much what Demetria's secret trouble could be. "The
mystery of the green butterfly," I called it; but it was really all
too sad even for a mental joke, though a little timely laughter is
often the best weapon to meet trouble with, sometimes having an effect
like that of a gay sunshade suddenly opened in the face of an angry
bull. Unable to solve the riddle, I retired to my room to sleep my
last sleep under Peralta's dreary roof.




CHAPTER XXV


About eight o'clock next morning I bade the Peraltas goodbye, and set
out on my long-delayed journey, still mounted on that dishonestly
acquired steed that had served me so well, for I had declined the good
Hilario's offer of a horse. Though all my toils, wanderings, and many
services to the cause of liberty (or whatever people fight for in the
Banda) had not earned me one copper coin, it was some comfort to think
that Candelaria's never-to-be-forgotten generosity had saved me from
being penniless; I was, in fact, returning to Paquíta well dressed,
on a splendid horse, and with dollars enough in my pocket to take us
comfortably out of the country. Santos rode out with me, ostensibly
to put me on the right road to Montevideo; only I knew, of course,
that he was the bearer of an important communication from Demetria.
When we had ridden about half a league without any approach to the
subject on his part, in spite of sundry hints I threw out, I asked him
plainly if he had a message for me.

After pondering over the question for as long a time as would be
necessary to work out a rather difficult mathematical problem, he
answered that he had.

"Then," said I, "let me hear it."

He grinned. "Do you think," he said, "that it is a thing to be spoken
in half a dozen words? I have not come all this distance merely to say
that the moon came in dry, or that yesterday, being Friday, Doña
Demetria tasted no meat. It is a long story, señor."

"How many leagues long? Do you intend it to last all the way to
Montevideo? The longer it is the sooner you ought to begin it."

"There are things easy to say, and there are other things not so easy,"
returned Santos. "But as to saying anything on horseback, who could
do that?"

"Why not?"

"The question!" said he. "Have you not observed that when liquor is
drawn from a cask--wine, or bitter orange-juice to make orangeade, or
even rum, which is by nature white and clear--that it runs thick when
the cask is shaken? It is the same with us, señor; our brain is the
cask out of which we draw all the things we say."

"And the spigot--"

"That is so," he struck in, pleased with my ready intelligence; "the
mouth is the spigot."

"I should have thought the nose more like the spigot," I replied.

"No," he gravely returned. "You can make a loud noise with the nose
when you snore or blow it in a handkerchief; but it has no door of
communication with the brain. The things that are in the brain flow
out by the mouth."

"Very well," said I, getting impatient, "call the mouth spigot,
bung-hole, or what you like, and the nose merely an ornament on the
cask. The thing is this: Doña Demetria has entrusted you with some
liquor to pass on to me; now pass it, thick or clear."

"Not thick," he answered stubbornly.

"Very well; clear then," I shouted.

"To give it to you clear I must give it off and not on my horse, sitting
still and not moving."

Anxious to have it over without more beating about the bush, I reined
up my horse, jumped off, and sat down on the grass without another
word. He followed my example, and, after seating himself in a
comfortable position, deliberately drew out his tobacco-pouch and began
making a cigarette. I could not quarrel with him for this further
delay, for without the soothing, stimulating cigarette an Oriental
finds it difficult to collect his thoughts. Leaving him to carry out
his instructions in his own laborious fashion, I vented my irritation
on the grass, plucking it up by handfuls.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, with a grin.

"Pluck grass? What a question! When a person sits down on the grass,
what is the first thing he does?"

"Makes a cigarette," he returned.

"In my country he begins plucking up the grass," I said.

"In the Banda Orientál we leave the grass for the cattle to eat," said
he.

I at once gave up pulling the grass, for it evidently distracted his
mind, and, lighting a cigarette, began smoking as placidly as I could.

At length he began: "There is not in all the Banda Orientál a worse
person to express things than myself."

"You are speaking the truth," I said.

"But what is to be done?" he continued, staring straight before him
and giving as little heed to my interruption as a hunter riding at a
stiff fence would pay to a remark about the weather. "When a man cannot
get a knife, he breaks in two an old pair of sheep-shears, and with
one of the blades makes himself an implement which has to serve him
for a knife. This is how it is with Doña Demetria; she has no one but
her poor Santos to speak for her. If she had asked me to expose my
life in her service, that I could easily have done; but to speak for
her to a man who can read the almanac and knows the names of all the
stars in the sky, that kills me, señor. And who knows this better than
my mistress, who has been intimate with me from her infancy, when I
often carried her in my arms? I can only say this, señor; when I speak,
remember my poverty and that my mistress has no instrument except my
poor tongue to convey her wishes. Words has she told me to say to you,
but my devil of a memory has lost them all. What am I to do in this
case? If I wished to buy my neighbour's horse, and went to him and
said, 'Sell me your horse, neighbour, for I have fallen in love with
it and my heart is sick with desire, so that I must have it at any
price,' would that not be madness, señor? Yet I must be like that
imprudent person. I come to you for something, and all her expressions,
which were like rare flowers culled from a garden, have been lost by
the way. Therefore I can only say this thing which my mistress desires,
putting it in my own brute words, which are like wild flowers I have
myself gathered on the plain, that have neither fragrance nor beauty
to recommend them."

This quaint exordium did not advance matters much, but it had the
effect of rousing my attention and convincing me that the message
entrusted to Santos was one of very grave import. He had finished his
first cigarette and now began slowly making himself a second one; but
I waited patiently for him to speak, my irritation had quite vanished,
those "wild flowers" of his were not without beauty, and his love and
devotion for his unhappy mistress made them smell very sweet.

Presently he resumed: "Señor, you have told my mistress that you are
a poor man; that you look upon this country life as a free and happy
one; that above all things you would like to possess an _estancia_
where you could breed cattle and race-horses and hunt ostriches. All
this she has revolved in her mind, and because it is in her power to
offer you the things you desire does she now ask you to aid her in her
trouble. And now, señor, let me tell you this. The Peralta property
extends all the way to the Rocha waters; five leagues of land, and
there is none better in this department. It was formerly well stocked.
There were thousands of cattle and mares; for my master's party then
ruled in the country; the Colorados were shut up in Montevideo, and
that cut-throat Frutos Rivera never came into this part. Of the cattle
only a remnant remains, but the land is a fortune for any man, and,
when my old master dies, Doña Demetria inherits all. Even now it is
hers, since her father has lost his calabash, as you have seen. Now
let me tell you what happened many years ago. Don Hilario was at first
a peon--a poor boy the Colonel befriended. When he grew up he was made
_capatas,_ then _mayordomo._ Don Calixto was killed and the
Colonel lost his reason, then Don Hilario made himself all-powerful,
doing what he liked with his master, and setting Doña Demetria's
authority aside. Did he protect the interests of the _estancia?_
On the contrary, he was one with our enemies, and when they came like
dogs for our cattle and horses he was behind them. This he did to make
friends of the reigning party, when the Blancos had lost everything.
Now he wishes to marry Doña Demetria to make himself owner of the land.
Don Calixto is dead, and who is there to bell the cat? Even now he
acts like the only owner; he buys and sells and the money is his. My
mistress is scarcely allowed clothes to wear; she has no horse to ride
on and is a prisoner in her own house. He watches her like a cat
watching a bird shut in a room; if he suspected her of an intention
to make her escape he would murder her. He has sworn to her that unless
she marries him he will kill her. Is not this sad? Señor, she asks you
to deliver her from this man. Her words I have forgotten, but imagine
that you see her before you a suppliant on her knees, and that you
know what the thing is she asks, and see her lips move, though you do
not hear her words."

"Tell me how I can deliver her?" I said, feeling very much moved at
what I had heard.

"How! By carrying her off forcibly--do you understand? Is it not in
your power to return in a few days' time with two or three friends to
do this thing? You must come disguised and armed. If I am in the way
I will do what I can to protect her, but you will easily knock me down
and stun me--do you understand? Don Hilario must not know that we are
in the plot. From him fear nothing, for, though he is brave enough to
threaten a woman with death, before armed men he is like a dog that
hears thunder. You can then take her to Montevideo and conceal her
there. The rest will be easy. Don Hilario will fail to find her; Ramona
and I will take care of the Colonel, and when his daughter is out of
his sight perhaps he will forget her. Then, señor, there will be no
trouble about the property; for who can resist a legal claim?"

"I do not understand you, Santos," said I. "If Demetria wishes me to
do what you say, and there is no other way to save her from Don
Hilario's persecutions, I will do it. I will do anything to serve her,
and I have no fear of that dog Hilario. But when I have placed her in
concealment, who in Montevideo, where she is without a friend, will
take up her cause and see that she is not defrauded of her rights? I
can give her liberty, but that will be all."

"The property will be the same as yours when you marry her," said he.

I had never suspected that this was coming, and was amazed to hear it.

"Will you tell me, Santos," said I, "that Demetria sent you to say
this to me? Does she think that only by marrying her I can deliver her
from this robber and save her property?"

"There is, of course, no other way," said he. "If it could be done by
other means, would she not have spoken last night and explained
everything to you? Consider, señor, all this large property will be
yours. If you do not like this department, then she will sell everything
for you to buy an _estancia_ elsewhere, or to do whatever you
wish. And I ask you this, señor, could any man marry a better woman?"

"No," said I; "but, Santos, I cannot marry your mistress."

I remembered then, sadly enough, that I had told her next to nothing
about myself. Seeing me so young, wandering homeless about the country,
she had naturally taken me for a single man; and, perhaps thinking
that I had conceived an affection for her, had been driven in her
despair to make this proposal. Poor Demetria, was there to be no
deliverance for her after all!

"Friend," said Santos, dropping the ceremonious señor in his anxiety
to serve his mistress, "never speak without first considering all
things. There is no woman like her. If you do not love her now you
will love her when you know her better; no good man could help feeling
affection for her. You saw her last evening in a green silk dress,
also wearing a tortoise-shell comb and gold ornaments--was she not
elegant, señor? Did she not then appear to your eyes a woman suitable
for a wife? You have been everywhere, and have seen many women, and
perhaps in some distant place you have met one more beautiful than my
mistress. But consider the life she has led! Grief has made her pale
and thin, staining her face with purple under the eyes. Can laughter
and song come out of a heart where fear is? Another life would change
all; she would be a flower amongst women."

Poor old simple-minded Santos, he had done himself great injustice;
his love for his mistress had inspired him with an eloquence that went
to my heart. And poor Demetria, driven by her weary, desolate life and
torturing fears to make in vain this unwomanly proposal to a stranger!
And, after all, it was not unwomanly; for in all countries where they
are not abject slaves it is permissible for women in some circumstances
to propose marriage. Even in England it is so, where society is like
a huge Clapham Junction, with human creatures moving like trucks and
carriages on cast-iron, conventional rails, which they can only leave
at the risk of a destructive collision. And a proposal of the kind was
never more justifiable than in this case. Shut away from the sight of
men in her dreary seclusion, haunted by nameless fears, her offer was
to bestow her hand along with a large property on a penniless
adventurer. Nor had she done this before she had learnt to love me,
and to think, perhaps, that the feeling was returned. She had waited,
too, till the very last moment, only making her offer when she had
despaired of its coming from me. This explained the reception of the
previous evening; the ancient, splendid attire which she had worn to
win favour in my sight; the shy, wistful expression of her eyes, the
hesitation she could not overcome. When I had recovered from the first
shock of surprise I could only feel the greatest respect and compassion
for her, bitterly regretting that I had not told her all my past
history, so that she might have been spared the shame and grief she
would now be compelled to endure. These sad thoughts passed through
my mind while Santos expatiated on the advantages of the proposed
alliance until I stopped him.

"Say no more," I said; "for I swear to you, Santos, that were it
possible I would gladly take Demetria for a wife, so greatly do I
admire and esteem her. But I am married. Look at this; it is my wife's
portrait"; and, taking from my bosom the miniature which I always wore
round my neck, I handed it to him.

He stared at me in silent astonishment for a few moments, then took
the portrait into his hand; and while he gazed admiringly at it I
pondered over what I had heard. I could not now think of leaving this
poor woman, who had offered herself with all her inheritance to me,
without some attempt to rescue her from her sad position. She had given
me a refuge when I was in trouble and danger, and the appeal she had
just made to me, accompanied by so convincing a proof of her trust and
affection, would have gone to the heart of the most cold-blooded man
in existence, to make him, in spite of his nature, her devoted champion.

At length Santos handed back the miniature, with a sigh. "Such a face
as that my eyes have never seen," he remarked. "There is nothing more
to be said."

"There is a great deal more to be said," I returned. "I have thought
of an easy plan to help your mistress. When you have reported this
conversation, tell her to remember the offer of assistance made to her
last night. I said I would be a brother to her, and I shall keep my
promise. You three cannot think of any better scheme to save Demetria
than this one you have told me, but it is after all a very poor scheme,
full of difficulty and danger to her. My plan is a simpler and safer
one. Tell her to come out to-night at midnight, after the moon has
set, to meet me under the trees behind the house. I shall be there
waiting with a horse for her, and will take her away to some safe place
of concealment where Don Hilario will never find her. When she is once
out of his power it will be time enough to think of some way to turn
him out of the _estancia_ and to arrange matters. See that she
does not fail to meet me, and let her take a few clothes and some
money, if she has any; also her jewels, for it would not be safe to
leave them in the house with Don Hilario."

Santos was delighted with my scheme, which was so much more practical,
though less romantic, than the one hatched by those three simple-minded
conspirators. With heart full of hope, he was about to leave me when
he suddenly exclaimed, "But, señor, how will you get a horse and
side-saddle for Doña Demetria?"

"Leave it all to me," I said; then we separated, he to return to his
mistress, who was no doubt anxiously waiting to know the result of our
conversation, I to get through the next fifteen hours in the best way
I could.




CHAPTER XXVI


After leaving Santos I rode on to a belt of wood about two miles east
of the road, and, passing through it, surveyed the country lying beyond.
The only habitation near it was a shepherd's lonely _rancho_,
standing on an open plain of yellow grass, over which a scattered flock
of sheep and a few horses were grazing. I determined to remain in the
wood till near noon, then proceed to the _rancho_ to get breakfast,
and commence my search for a horse and side-saddle in the neighbourhood.
After unsaddling my horse and tying him to a tree, where there were
some pickings of grass and herbage about the roots, I lit a cigar and
made myself comfortable on my rugs in the shade. Presently I had some
visitors in a flock of _urracas_, or magpies, as they are called
in the vernacular, or Guira cuckoos; a graceful, loquacious bird
resembling a magpie, only with a longer tail and a bold, red beak.
These ill-mannered birds skulked about in the branches over me all the
time I remained in the wood, scolding me so incessantly in their
intolerably loud, angry, rattling notes, varied occasionally with
shrill whistlings and groans, that I could scarcely even hear myself
think. They soon succeeded in bringing all the other birds within
hearing distance to the spot to take part in the demonstration. It was
unreasonable of the cuckoos, to say the least of it, for it was now
long past their breeding season, so that parental solicitude could not
be pleaded as an excuse for their churlish behaviour. The
others--tanagers, finches, tyrant-birds; red, white, blue, grey, yellow,
and mixed--were, I must own, less troublesome, for, after hopping about
for a while, screaming, chirping, and twittering, they very sensibly
flew away, no doubt thinking their friends the cuckoos were making a
great deal too much fuss. My sole mammalian visitor was an armadillo,
that came hurrying towards me, looking curiously like a little old
bent-backed gentleman in a rusty black coat trotting briskly about on
some very important business. It came to within three yards of my feet,
then stopped, and seemed astonished beyond measure at my presence,
staring at me with its little, bleary, blinking eyes, and looking more
like the shabby old gentleman than ever. Then it trotted away through
the trees, but presently returned for a second inspection; and after
that it kept coming and going, till I inadvertently burst out laughing,
whereupon it scuttled away in great alarm, and returned no more. I was
sorry I had frightened the amusing little beggar, for I felt in that
exceedingly light-hearted mood when one's merriment is ready to brim
over at the slightest provocation. Yet that very morning poor Demetria's
appeal had deeply stirred my heart, and I was now embarked on a most
Quixotic and perhaps perilous adventure! Possibly the very fact of
that adventure being before me had produced an exhilarating effect on
my mind, and made it impossible for me to be sad, or even decently
composed.

After spending a couple of hours in the pleasant shade, the blue smoke
ascending from the _rancho_ before me gave notice of the
approaching breakfast hour; so, saddling my horse, I went to make my
morning call, the cuckoos hailing my departure with loud mocking shouts
and whistling calls, meant to inform all their feathered friends that
they had at last succeeded in making their haunt too hot for me.

At the _rancho_ I was received by a somewhat surly-looking young
man, with long, intensely black hair and moustache, and who wore in
place of a hat a purple cotton handkerchief tied about his head. He
did not seem to be over-pleased at my visit, and invited me rather
ungraciously to alight if I thought proper. I followed him into the
kitchen, where his little brown-skinned wife was preparing breakfast,
and I fancied, after seeing her, that her prettiness was the cause of
his inhospitable manner towards a stranger. She was singularly pretty,
with a seductive, soft brown skin, ripe, pouting lips of a rich
purple-red, and when she laughed, which happened very frequently, her
teeth glistened like pearls. Her crisp, black hair hung down unbound
and disordered, for she looked like a very careless little beauty; but
when she saw me enter, she blushed and tossed her tresses away from
her shoulders, then carefully felt the pendants dropping from her ears
to assure herself that they were safe, or possibly to attract my
attention to them. The frequent glances her laughing, dark eyes shot
at me soon convinced me that she was one of those charming little
wives--charming, that is, when they are the wives of other people--who
are not satisfied with a husband's admiration.

I had timed my arrival well, for the roast lamb over the coals was
just assuming a deep golden brown colour, and sending out a most
delicious fragrance. During the repast which followed I amused my
auditors, and myself, by telling a few innocent lies, and began by
saying that I was on my return to Rocha from Montevideo.

The shepherd remarked suspiciously that I was not on the right road.

I answered that I knew it; then proceeded to say that I had met with
a misfortune on the previous evening, which in the end had led me out
of the right road. I had only been married a few days, I continued,
and at this declaration my host looked relieved, while little gipsy
suddenly seemed to lose all interest in me.

"My wife," I said, "set her heart on having a side-saddle, as she is
very fond of riding; so, having business which took me to town, I there
purchased one for her, and was returning with it on a led horse--my
wife's horse, unfortunately--when I stopped last evening to get some
refreshment at a _pulperia_ on the road. While eating some bread
and sausage a tipsy person, who happened to be there, imprudently began
to explode some fire-crackers, which so terrified the horses tied at
the gate that several of them broke loose and escaped. My wife's horse
with the side-saddle on him escaped with them; then, mounting my own
horse, I started in pursuit, but failed to overtake the runaway. Finally
it joined a herd of mares, and these, becoming terrified, fled from
me, leading me a chase of several leagues, till I lost sight of them
in the darkness."

"If your wife resembles mine in disposition, friend," said he, with
a somewhat sorrowful smile, "you would have continued following that
runaway animal with the side-saddle to the end of the world."

"I can say this," I returned gravely, "without a side-saddle, good or
bad, I am not going to present myself before her. I intend inquiring
at every house on my way to the Lomas de Rocha till I can hear of one
for sale."

"What will you give for one?" said he, becoming interested.

"That will depend on its condition. If it is as good as new I will
give the amount it cost and two dollars profit besides."

"I know of a side-saddle that cost ten dollars a year ago, but it has
never been used. It belongs to a neighbour three leagues from here,
and she would sell it, I believe."

"Show me the house," I said, "and I will go directly and offer twelve
dollars for it."

"You speak of Doña Petrona's side-saddle, Antonio?" said the little
wife. "She would sell it for what it cost--perhaps for eight dollars.
Ah, pumpkin-head, why did you not think to make all that profit? Then
I could have bought slippers and a thousand things."

"You are never satisfied, Cleta," he returned. "Have you not got
slippers to your feet?"

She tossed up a pretty foot and displayed it cased in rather a shabby
little slipper. Then, with a laugh, she kicked it off towards him.
"There," she exclaimed, "put it in your bosom and keep it--something
precious! And some day when you go to Montevideo, and wish to appear
very grand before all the town, wear it on your great toe."

"Who expects reason from a woman?" said Antonio, shrugging his
shoulders.

"Reason! you have no more brains than a Muscovy duck, Antonio. You
might have made this profit, but you never can make money like other
men, and therefore you will always be poorer than the spiders. I have
said this before very often, and only hope you will not forget it, for
in future I intend to speak of other things."

"Where would I have got the ten dollars to pay Petrona for the saddle?"
he retorted, losing his temper.

"My friend," I said, "if the saddle can be had, it is only just that
you should have the profit. Take ten dollars, and if you buy it for
me I will pay you two more."

This proposal pleased him greatly, while Cleta, the volatile, clapped
her hands with delight. While Antonio prepared to go to his neighbour's
after the saddle I went out to a solitary thorn-tree about fifty yards
from the _rancho_, and, spreading my _poncho_ in the shade,
lay down to sleep the siesta.

Before the shepherd had been long gone I heard a great noise in the
house, like banging on doors and on copper vessels, but took no notice,
supposing it to proceed from Cleta engaged in some unusually noisy
domestic operation. At length I heard a voice calling to me, "Señor!
Señor!"

Getting up, I went to the kitchen, but no person was there. Suddenly
a loud knock was given on the door communicating with the second room.
"Oh, my friend," cried Cleta's voice behind it, "my ruffian of a husband
has locked me in--can you let me out, do you think?"

"Why has he locked you in?" I asked.

"The question! Because he is a brute, of course. He always does it
when he goes out. Is it not horrible?"

"It only shows how fond he is of you," I returned.

"Are you so atrocious as to defend him? And I thought you had a
heart--so handsome, too! When I saw you I said, Ah, had I married this
man, what a happy life!"

"Thank you for your good opinion," I said. "I am very sorry you are
locked in, because it prevents me from seeing your pretty face."

"Oh, you think it pretty? Then you _must_ let me out. I have put
up my hair now, and look prettier than when you saw me."

"You look prettier with it down," I answered.

"Ah, down it goes again then!" she exclaimed.--"Yes, you are right,
it does look best that way. Is it not like silk? You shall feel it
when you liberate me."

"That I cannot do, Cleta mine. Your Antonio has taken away the key."

"Oh, cruel man! He left me no water, and I am perishing with thirst.
What shall I do? Look, I will put my hand under the door for you to
feel how hot it is; I am consumed with fever and thirst in this oven."

Presently her little brown hand came out at my feet, there being
sufficient space between the floor and wood to pass it through. I
stooped and took it in mine, and found it a hot, moist little hand,
with a pulse beating very fast.

"Poor child!" I said, "I will pour some water in a plate and pass it
to you under the door."

"Oh, you are bad to insult me!" she cried. "What, am I a cat to drink
water from a plate? I could cry my eyes out"; here followed sob-like
sounds. "Besides," she suddenly resumed, "it is fresh air, not water,
I require. I am suffocated, I cannot breathe. Oh, dear friend, save
me from fainting. Force back the door till the bolt slips out."

"No, no, Cleta, it cannot be done."

"What, with your strength! I could almost do it myself with my poor
little hands. Open, open, open, before I faint."

She had evidently sunk down on the floor sobbing, after making that
practical suggestion; and, casting about for burglarious implements
to aid me, I found the spit and a wedge-shaped piece of hard wood.
These I inserted just above and below the lock, and, forcing back the
door on its frame, I soon had the satisfaction of seeing the bolt slip
from the catch.

Out sprang Cleta, flushed, tearful, her hair all in disorder, but
laughing gleefully at having regained her liberty.

"Oh, dear friend, I thought you were going to leave me!" she cried.
"How agitated I am--feel how my heart beats. Never mind, I can now pay
that wretch out. Is not revenge sweet, sweet, sweet?"

"Now, Cleta," I said, "take three mouthfuls of fresh air and a drink
of water, then let me lock you in again."

She laughed mockingly, and shook her hair like a wild young colt.

"Ah, you are not serious--do you not think I know?" she cried. "Your
eyes tell me everything. Besides, you could not shut me up again if
you tried." Here she made a sudden dash at the door, but I caught her
and held her a close prisoner.

"Let me go, monster--oh, no, not monster, dear, sweet friend, beautiful
as the--moon, sun, stars. I am dying for fresh air. I will come back
to the oven before he returns. If he caught me out, what blows! Come,
let us sit under the tree together."

"That would be disobeying your husband," I said, trying to look stern.

"Never mind, I will confess it all to the priest some day, then it
will be as if it had never happened. Such a husband--poof! If you were
not a married man--_are_ you married? What a pity! Say again, am
I pretty?"

"Say first, Cleta, have you a horse a woman can ride on, and if you
have one, will you sell it to me?"

"Oh, yes, the best horse in the Banda Orientál. They say it is worth
six dollars--will you buy it for six dollars? No, I shall not sell
it--I shall not tell you that I have a horse till you answer me. Am
I pretty, sir stranger?"

"Tell me first about the horse, then ask me what you like."

"Nothing more will I tell you--not a word. Yes, everything. Listen.
When Antonio comes back, ask him to sell you a horse for your wife to
ride. He will try to sell you one of his own, a demon full of faults
like his master; false-footed, lame in the shoulder, a roarer, old as
the south wind. A black piebald--remember. Offer to buy a roan with
a cream nose. That is my horse. Offer him six dollars. Now say, am I
pretty?"

"Oh, beautiful, Cleta; your eyes are stars, your mouth is a rosebud,
sweeter than honey a thousand times."

"Now you talk like a wise man," she laughed; then, holding my hand,
she led me to the tree and sat down by my side on the _poncho_.

"And how old are you, little one?" I asked.

"Fourteen--is that very old? Ah, fool, to tell my age truly--no woman
does that. Why did I not say thirteen? And I have been married six
months, such a long time! I am sure I have green, blue, yellow, grey
hairs coming out all over my head by this time. And what about my hair,
sir, you never spoke of that? Did I not let it down for you? Is it not
soft and beautiful? Tell me, sir, what about my hair?"

"In truth it is soft and beautiful, Cleta, and covers you like a dark
cloud."

"Does it not! Look, I will cover my face with it. Now I am hidden like
the moon in a cloud, and now, look, out comes the moon again! I have
a great respect for the moon. Say, holy friar, am I like the moon?"

"Say, little sweet lips, why do you call me holy friar?"

"Say first, holy friar, am I like the moon?"

"No, Cleta, you are not like the moon, though you are both married
women; you are married to Antonio--"

"Poor me!"

"And the moon is married to the sun."

"Happy moon, to be so far from him!"

"The moon is a quiet wife, but you chatter like a paroquet."

"And am I not able to be quiet also, monk? Look, I will be quiet as
the moon--not a word, not a breath." Then she threw herself back on
the poncho, feigning sleep, her arms above her head, her hair scattered
everywhere, only a tress or two half shading her flushed face and
round, heaving bosom that would not be quiet. There was just a little
mocking smile on her lips, just a little gleam of laughing eyes under
her drooping lashes, for she could not help watching my face for
admiration. In such an attitude the tempting little witch might have
made the tepid blood of an ascetic boil.

Two or three hours thus flew swiftly by while I listened to her lively
prattle, which, like the lark's singing, had scarcely a pause in it,
her attempt at being still and moonlight having ended in a perfect
fiasco. At length, pouting her pretty lips and complaining of her hard
lot, she said it was time to go back to her prison; but all the time
I was engaged in forcing back the bolt into its place she chattered
without ceasing. "Adieu, Sun, husband of the moon," she said. "Adieu,
sweet, sweet friend, buyer of side-saddles! They were all lies you
told--I know, I know. You want a horse and sidesaddle to carry off
some girl to-night. Happy she! Now I must sit in the dark alone, alone,
alone, till Antonio, the atrocious, comes to liberate me with his iron
key--ah, fool!"

Before I had been long back under my tree, Antonio appeared, bringing
the side-saddle in triumph on his horse before him. After going in to
release his wife he came out and invited me to take _maté_. I
then mentioned my wish to buy a good horse; he was only too willing
to sell, and in a few minutes his horses were driven up for inspection.
The black piebald was first offered, a very handsome, quiet-looking
animal, apparently quite sound. The cream-nose, I noticed, was a bony,
long-bodied brute, with sleepy eyes and a ewe neck. Could it be that
the little double-dealing witch had intended to deceive me? But in a
moment I dismissed such a suspicion with the scorn it merited. Let a
woman be as false as she can, and able to fool her husband to the top
of her bent, she is, compared with the man who wishes to sell you a
horse, openness and truth itself. I examined the piebald critically,
walking and trotting him round; looked into his mouth, then at hoofs
and fetlocks, beloved of windgalls; gazed with fixed attention into
his eyes and dealt him a sudden brisk blow on the shoulder.

"No weak spot will you find, señor," said Antonio the mendacious, who
was certainly the greatest of the three sinners met together in that
place. "He is my best horse, only four years old, gentle as a lamb,
sound as a bell. Sure-footed, señor, like no other horse; and with
such an easy pace you can ride him at a gallop with a tumbler of water
in your hand and not spill a drop. I will give him away to you for ten
dollars, because you have been generous about the side-saddle, and I
am anxious to serve you well."

"Thank you, my friend," I said. "Your piebald is fifteen years old,
lame in the shoulders, broken in his wind, and has more vices than any
seven horses in the Banda Orientál. I would not allow my wife to ride
such a dangerous brute, for, as I told you, I have not been long
married."

Antonio framed his face to express astonishment and virtue indignant;
then with the point of his knife he scratched the figure of a cross
on the ground, and was about to swear solemnly on it that I was
egregiously mistaken, that his beast was a kind of equine angel, ora
Pegasus, at least, when I interfered to stop him. "Tell as many lies
as you like," I said, "and I will listen to them with the greatest
interest; but do not swear on the figure of the cross to what is false,
for then the four or five or six dollars profit you have made on the
side-saddle will scarcely be sufficient to buy you absolution for such
a sin."

He shrugged his shoulders and restored the sacrilegious knife to its
sheath. "There are my horses," he said in an injured tone. "They are
a kind of animal you seem to know a great deal about; select one and
deceive yourself. I have endeavoured to serve you; but there are some
people who do not know a friend when they see one."

I then minutely examined all the other horses, and finally finished
the farce by leading out the roan cream-nose, and was pleased to notice
the crestfallen expression of my good shepherd.

"Your horses do not suit me," I said, "so I cannot buy one. I will,
however, purchase this old cow; for it is the only animal here I could
trust my wife on. You can have seven dollars for it--not one copper
more, for, like the Emperor of China, I speak once only."

He plucked off his purple headgear and scratched his raven head, then
led me back to the kitchen to consult his wife, "For, señor," he said,
"you have, by some fatality, selected her horse." When Cleta heard
that seven dollars had been offered for the roan, she laughed with
joy. "Oh, Antonio, he is only worth six dollars! Yes, señor, you shall
have him, and pay the seven dollars to me. Not to my husband. Who will
say now that I cannot make money? And now, Antonio, I have no horse
to ride on, you can give me the bay with white forefeet."

"Do not imagine such a thing!" exclaimed her husband.

After taking _maté_ I left them to settle their affairs, not
doubting which would come out best from a trial of skill. When I arrived
in sight of Peralta's trees I unsaddled and picketed my horses, then
stretched myself out on my rugs. After the excitements and pleasures
of that day, which had robbed me of my siesta, I quickly fell into a
very sound sleep.




CHAPTER XXVII


When I woke I did not remember for some moments where I was. Feeling
about me, my hand came in contact with the grass wet with dew. It was
very dark, only low down in the sky a pale gleam of light gave promise,
as I imagined, of coming day. Then recollection flashed upon me, and
I sprang up alarmed to my feet, only to discover with inexpressible
relief that the light I had remarked was in the west, not the east,
and proceeded from the young moon just sinking beneath the horizon.
Saddling my two animals expeditiously, I rode to Peralta's _estancia,
and on arriving there carefully drew the horses into the shadow of a
clump of trees growing on the borders of the ancient, wellnigh
obliterated foss or ditch. I then dropped on to the ground so as to
listen better for approaching footsteps, and began waiting for Demetria.
It was past midnight: not a sound reached me except at intervals the
mournful, far-away, reedy note of the little nocturnal cicada that
always seemed to be there lamenting the lost fortunes of the house of
Peralta. For upwards of half an hour I remained lying on the ground,
growing more anxious every moment and fearing that Demetria was going
to fail me, when I caught a sound like a human whisper. Listening
intently, I found that it pronounced my name and proceeded from a clump
of tall thorn-apples some yards from me.

"Who speaks?" I replied.

The tall, gaunt form of Ramona drew itself up out of the weeds and
cautiously approached me. She was shaking with nervous excitement, and
had not ventured to come near without speaking for fear of being
mistaken for an enemy and fired at.

"Mother of Heaven!" she exclaimed, as well as her chattering teeth
would allow her to speak. "I have been so agitated all the evening!
Oh, señor, what are we to do now? Your plan was such a good one; when
I heard it I knew an angel had flown down and whispered it in your
ear. And now my mistress will not stir! All her things are
ready--clothes, money, jewels; and for the last hour we have been
urging her to come out, but nothing will serve. She will not see you,
señor."

"Is Don Hilario in the house?"

"No, he is out--could anything have been better? But it is useless,
she has lost heart and will not come. She only sits crying in her room,
saying that she cannot look on your face again."

"Go and tell her that I am here with the horses waiting for her," I
said.

"Señor, she knows you are here. Santos watched for you and hastened
in to inform her of your arrival. Now she has sent me out only to say
that she cannot meet you, that she thanks you for all you have done,
and begs you to go away and leave her."

I was not greatly surprised at Demetria's reluctance to meet me at the
last moment, but was determined not to leave without first seeing her
and trying to change her mind. Securing the horses to a tree, I went
with Ramona to the house. Stealing in on tiptoe, we found Demetria in
that room where she had received me the evening before in her quaint
finery, lying on the sofa, while old Santos stood by her the picture
of distress. The moment she saw me enter she covered her face with her
hands and turned from me. Yet a glance was sufficient to show that
with or without her consent everything had been got ready for her
flight. On a chair near her lay a pair of saddle-bags in which her few
belongings had been stowed; a mantilla was drawn half over her head,
and by her side was a large woollen shawl, evidently intended to protect
her against the night air.

"Santos," I said, "go out to the horses under the trees and wait there
for us; and you, Ramona, say good-bye now to your mistress, then leave
us together; for by and by she will recover courage and go with me."

Santos, looking immensely relieved and grateful, though a little
surprised at my confident tone, was hurrying out when I pointed to the
saddle-bags. He nodded, grinned, and, snatching them up, left the room.
Poor old Ramona threw herself on to her knees, sobbing and pouring out
farewell blessings on her mistress, kissing her hands and hair with
sorrowful devotion.

When she left us I sat down by Demetria's side, but she would not takeher
hands from her face or speak to me, and only wept hysterically
when I addressed her. I succeeded at last in getting one of her hands
in mine, and then drew her head gently down till it rested on my
shoulder. When her sobs began to subside I said:

"Tell me, dear Demetria, have you lost faith in me that you fear to
trust yourself with me now?"

"No, no, Richard, it is not that," she faltered. "But I can never look
into your face again. If you have any compassion for me you will leave
me now."

"What, leave you, Demetria, my sister, to that man--how can you imagine
such a thing? Tell me, where is Don Hilario--is he coming back
to-night?"

"I know nothing. He may come back at any moment. Leave me, Richard;
every minute you remain here increases your danger." Then she attempted
to draw away from me, but I would not release her.

"If you fear his returning to-night, then it is time for you to come
with me," I answered.

"No, no, no, I cannot. All is changed now. It would kill me with shame
to look on your face again."

"You shall look on it again many times, Demetria. Do you think that
after coming here to rescue you out of the coils of that serpent I am
going to leave you because you are a little timid? Listen, Demetria,
I shall save you from that devil to-night, even if I have to carry you
out in my arms. Afterwards we can consider all there is to be done
about your father and your property. Perhaps when the poor Colonel is
taken out of this sad atmosphere, his health, his reason even, may
improve."

"Oh, Richard, are you deceiving me?" she exclaimed, suddenly dropping
her hands and gazing full into my face.

"No, I am not deceiving you. And now you will lose all fear, Demetria,
for you have looked into my face again and have not been changed to
stone."

She turned crimson in a moment; but did not attempt to cover her face
again, for just then a clatter of hoofs was heard approaching the
house.

"Mother of Heaven, save us!" she exclaimed in terror. "It is Don
Hilario."

I quickly blew out the one candle burning dimly in the room. "Fear
nothing," I said. "When all is quiet, after he has gone to his room,
we will make our escape."

She was trembling with apprehension and nestled close to me; while we
both listened intently and heard Don Hilario unsaddle his horse, then
going softly, whistling to himself, to his room.

"Now he has shut himself up," I said, "and in a few minutes will be
asleep. When you think of that man whose persecutions have made your
life a burden, so that you tremble when he approaches you, do you not
feel glad that I have come to take you away?"

"Richard, I could go willingly with you to-night but for one thing.
Do you think after what has passed that I could ever face your wife?"

"She will know nothing of what has passed, Demetria. It would be
dishonourable in me and a cruel injustice to you to speak to her of
it. She will welcome you as a dear sister and love you as much as I
love you. All these doubts and fears troubling you are very
unsubstantial and can be blown away like thistle-down. And now that
you have confessed so much to me, Demetria, I wish to confess also the
one thing that troubles my heart."

"What is it, Richard, tell me?" she said very gently.

"Believe me, Demetria, I never had a suspicion that you loved me. Your
manner did not show it, otherwise I should have told you long ago all
about my past. I only knew you regarded me as a friend and one you
could trust. If I have been mistaken all along, Demetria, if you have
really felt a passion in your heart, then I shall have to lament
bitterly that I have been the cause of a lasting sorrow to you. Will
you not open your heart more to me and tell me frankly how it is with
you?"

She caressed my hand in silence for a little while, and then answered,
"I think you were right, Richard. Perhaps I am not capable of passion
like some women. I felt--I knew that you were my friend. To be near
you was like sitting in the shade of a green tree in some hot, desolate
place. I thought it would be pleasant to sit there always and forget
the bitter years. But, Richard, if you will always be my friend--my
brother, I shall be more than content, and my life will seem different."

"Demetria, how happy you have made me! Come, the serpent is sleeping
now, let us steal away and leave him to his evil dreams. God grant
that I may return some day to bruise his head with my heel."

Then, wrapping the shawl about her, I led her out, treading softly,
and in a few moments we were with Santos, patiently keeping watch
beside the horses.

I gladly let him assist Demetria to her seat on the side-saddle, for
that was perhaps the last personal service he would be able to render
her. The poor old fellow was crying, I believe, his utterance was so
husky. Before leaving I gave him on a scrap of paper my address in
Montevideo, and bade him take it to Don Florentino Blanco with a request
to write me a letter in the course of the next two or three days to
inform me of Don Hilario's movements. We then trotted softly away over
the sward, and in about half an hour struck the road leading from Rocha
to Montevideo. This we followed till daylight, scarcely pausing once
from our swift gallop, and a hundred times during that dark ride over
a country utterly unknown to me I blessed the little witch Cleta; for
never was there a more steady, sure-footed beast than the ugly roan
that carried my companion, and when we drew rein in the pale morning
light he seemed fresh as when we started. We then left the highway and
rode across country in a north-westerly direction for a distance of
eight or nine miles, for I was anxious to be far away from public roads
and from the prying, prating people that use them. About eleven o'clock
that morning we had breakfast at a _rancho,_ then rode on again
till we came to a forest of scattered thorn-trees growing on the slopes
of a range of hills. It was a wild, secluded spot, with water and good
pasturage for the horses and pleasant shade for ourselves; so, after
unsaddling and turning loose our horses to feed, we sat down to rest
under a large tree with our backs against its portly trunk. From our
shady retreat we commanded a splendid view of the country over which
we had been riding all the morning, extending for many leagues behind
us, and while I smoked my cigar I talked to my companion, calling her
attention to the beauty of that wide, sunlit prospect.

"Do you know, Demetria," I said, "when the long winter evenings come,
and I have plenty of leisure, I intend writing a history of my
wanderings in the Banda Oriental, and I will call my book _The Purple
Land;_ for what more suitable name can one find for a country so
stained with the blood of her children? You will never read it, of
course, for I shall write it in English, and only for the pleasure it
will give to my own children--if I ever have any--at some distant date,
when their little moral and intellectual stomachs are prepared for
other food than milk. But you will have a very important place in my
narrative, Demetria, for during these last days we have been very much
to each other. And perhaps the very last chapter will recount this
wild ride of ours together, flying from that evil genius Hilario to
some blessed refuge far away beyond the hills and woods and the blue
line of the horizon. For when we reach the capital I believe--I think--I
know, in fact--"

I hesitated to tell her that it would probably be necessary for me to
leave the country immediately, but she did not encourage me to go on,
and, glancing round, I discovered that she was fast asleep.

Poor Demetria, she had been dreadfully nervous all night and almost
afraid to stop to rest anywhere, but now her fatigue had quite overcome
her. Her position against the tree was uncomfortable and insecure, so,
drawing her head very gently down until it rested on my shoulder, and
shading her eyes with her mantilla, I let her sleep on. Her face looked
strangely worn and pallid in that keen noonday light, and, gazing on
it while she slumbered, and remembering all the dark years of grief
and anxiety she had endured down to that last pain of which I had been
the innocent cause, I felt my eyes grow dim with compassion.

After sleeping for about two hours she woke with a start, and was
greatly distressed to learn that I had been supporting her all that
time. But after that refreshing slumber a change seemed to come over
her. Not only her great fatigue, but the tormenting apprehensions had
very nearly vanished. Out of the nettle Danger she had plucked the
flower Safety, and now she could rejoice in its possession and was
filled with new life and spirits. The unaccustomed freedom and exercise,
with constant change of scene, also had an exhilarating effect on mind
and body. A new colour came into her pale cheeks; the purple stains
telling of anxious days and sleepless nights faded away; she smiled
brightly and was full of animation, so that on that long journey,
whether resting in the noonday shade or swiftly cantering over the
green turf, I could not have had a more agreeable companion than
Demetria. This change in her often made me remember Santos' pathetic
words when he told of the ravages of grief, and said that another life
would make his mistress a "flower amongst women." It was a comfort
that her affection for me had been, indeed, nothing but affection. But
what was I to do with her in the end? for I knew that my wife was most
anxious to return without further delay to her own country; and yet
it seemed to me that it would be a hard thing to leave poor Demetria
behind amongst strangers. Finding her so improved in spirits, I at
length ventured to speak to her on the subject. At first she was
depressed, but presently, recovering courage, she begged to be allowed
to go with us to Buenos Ayres. The prospect of being left alone was
unendurable to her, for in Montevideo she had no personal friends,
while the political friends of her family were all out of the country,
or living in very close retirement. Across the water she would be with
friends and safe for a season from her dreaded enemy. This proposal
seemed a very sensible one, and relieved my mind very much, although
it only served to remove my difficulty for a time.

In the department of Camelones, about six leagues from Montevideo, I
found the house of a fellow-countryman named Barker, who had lived for
many years in the country and had a wife and children. We arrived in
the afternoon at his estancia, and, seeing that Demetria was very much
knocked up with our long journey, I asked Mr. Barker to give us shelter
for the night. Our host was very kind and pleasant with us, asking no
disagreeable questions, and after a few hours' acquaintance, which
made us quite intimate, I took him aside and told him Demetria's
history, whereupon, like the good-hearted fellow he was, he at once
offered to shelter her in his house until matters could be arranged
in Montevideo, an offer which was joyfully accepted.




CHAPTER XXVIII


I was soon back in Montevideo after that. When I bade Demetria good-bye
she appeared reluctant to part with me, retaining my hand in hers for
an unusual time. For the first time in her life, probably, she was
about to be left in the company of entire strangers, and for many days
past we had been much to each other, so that it was only natural she
should cling to me a little at parting. Once more I pressed her hand
and exhorted her to be of good courage, reminding her that in a very
few days all trouble and danger would be over; still, however, she did
not release my hand. This tender reluctance to lose me was affecting
and also flattering, but slightly inopportune, for I was anxious to
be in the saddle and away. Presently she said, glancing down at her
rusty habiliments, "Richard, if I am to remain concealed here till I
go to join you on board, then I must meet your wife in these poor
garments."

"Oh, _that_ is what you are thinking about, Demetria!" I exclaimed.

At once I called in our kind hostess, and when this serious matter was
explained to her she immediately offered to go to Montevideo to procure
the necessary outfit, a thing I had thought nothing about, but which
had evidently been preying on Demetria's mind.

When I at length reached the little suburban retreat of my aunt (by
marriage), Paquíta and I acted for some time like two demented persons,
so overjoyed were we at meeting after our long separation. I had
received no letters from her, and only two or three of the score I had
written had reached their destination, so that we had ten thousand
questions to ask and answers to make. She could never gaze enough at
me or finish admiring my bronzed skin and the respectable moustache
I had grown; while she, poor darling! looked unusually pale, yet withal
so beautiful that I marvelled at myself for having, after possessing
her, considered any other woman even passably good-looking. I gave her
a circumstantial account of my adventures, omitting only a few matters
I was in honour bound not to disclose.

Thus, when I told her the story of my sojourn at the _estancia_
Peralta, I said nothing to betray Demetria's confidence; nor did I
think it necessary to mention the episode of that wicked little sprite,
Cleta; with the result that she was pleased at the chivalrous conduct
I had displayed throughout the whole of that affair, and was ready to
take Demetria to her heart.

I had not been back twenty-four hours in Montevideo before a letter
from the Lomas de Rocha storekeeper came to justify my caution in
having left Demetria at some distance from the town. The letter informed
me that Don Hilario had quickly guessed that I had carried off his
unhappy master's daughter, and that no doubt was left in his mind when
he discovered that, on the day I left the _estancia_, a person
answering to my description in every particular had purchased a horse
and side-saddle and had ridden off towards the _estancia_ in the
evening. My correspondent warned me that Don Hilario would be in
Montevideo even before his letter, also that he had discovered something
about my connection with the late rebellion, and would be sure to place
the matter in the hands of the government, so as to have me arrested,
after which he would have little difficulty in compelling Demetria to
return to the _estancia_.

For a moment this intelligence dismayed me. Luckily, Paquíta was out
of the house when it came, and fearing that she might return and
surprise me while I was in that troubled state, I rushed out; then,
skulking through back streets and narrow lanes, peering cautiously
about in fear of encountering the minions of the law, I made my escape
out of the town. My only desire just then was to get away into some
place of safety where I would be able to think over the position
quietly, and if possible devise some plan to defeat Don Hilario, who
had been a little too quick for me. Of many schemes that suggested
themselves to my mind, while I sat in the shade of a cactus hedge about
a mile from town, I finally determined, in accordance with my old and
well-tried rule, to adopt the boldest one, which was to go straight
back to Montevideo and claim the protection of my country. The only
trouble was that on my way thither I might be caught, and then Paquíta
would be in terrible distress about me, and perhaps Demetria's escape
would be prevented. While I was occupied with these thoughts I saw a
closed carriage pass by, driven towards the town by a tipsy-looking
coachman. Coming out of my hiding-place, I managed to stop him and
offered him two dollars to drive me to the British Consulate. The
carriage was a private one, but the two dollars tempted the man, so
after securing the fare in advance, he allowed me to get in, and then
I closed the windows, leant back on the cushion, and was driven rapidly
and comfortably to the house of refuge. I introduced myself to the
Consul, and told him a story concocted for the occasion, a judicious
mixture of truth and lies, to the effect that I had been unlawfully
and forcibly seized and compelled to serve in the Blanco army, and
that, having escaped from the rebels and made my way to Montevideo,
I was amazed to hear that the government proposed arresting me. He
asked me a few questions, looked at the passport which he had sent me
a few days before, then, laughing good-humouredly, put on his hat and
invited me to accompany him to the War Office close by. The secretary,
Colonel Arocena, he informed me, was a personal friend of his, and if
we could see him it would be all right. Walking by his side I felt
quite safe and bold again, for I was, in a sense, walking with my hand
resting on the superb mane of the British Lion, whose roar was not to
be provoked with impunity. At the War Office I was introduced by the
Consul to his friend, Colonel Arocena, a genial old gentleman with a
bald head and a cigarette between his lips. He listened with some
interest and a smile, slightly incredulous I thought, to the sad story
of the ill-treatment I had been subjected to at the hands of Santa
Coloma's rebellious rascals. When I had finished he pushed over a sheet
of paper on which he had scrawled a few words to me, with the remark,
"Here, my young friend, take this, and you will be safe in Montevideo.
We have heard about your doings in Florida, also in Rocha, but we do
not propose going to war with England on your account."

At this speech we all laughed; then when I had pocketed the paper,
which bore the sacred seal of the War Office on the margin and requested
all persons to refrain from molesting the bearer in his lawful outgoings
and incomings, we thanked the pleasant old Colonel and retired. I spent
half an hour strolling about with the Consul, then we separated. I had
noticed two men in military uniform at some distance from us when we
were together, and now, returning homewards, I found that they were
following me. By and by they overtook me, and politely intimated their
intention of making me their prisoner. I smiled, and, drawing forth
my protection from the War Office, handed it to them. They looked
surprised, and gave it back, with an apology for having molested me,
then left me to pursue my way in peace.

I had, of course, been very lucky throughout all this adventure; still,
I did not wish to attribute my easy escape entirely to luck, for I
had, I thought, contributed a good deal towards it by my promptness
in acting and in inventing a plausible story on the spur of the moment.

Feeling very much elated, I strolled along the sunny streets, gaily
swinging my cane, when, turning a corner near Doña Isidora's house,
I suddenly came face to face with Don Hilario. This unexpected encounter
threw us both off our guard, he recoiling two or three paces backwardand
turning as pale as the nature of his complexion would allow. I
recovered first from the shock. So far I had been able to baffle him,
and knew, moreover, many things of which he was ignorant; still, he
was there in the town with me and had to be reckoned with, and I quickly
resolved to meet him as a friend, affecting entire ignorance of his
object in coming to Montevideo.

"Don Hilario--you here! Happy the eyes that behold you," I exclaimed,
seizing and shaking his hand, pretending to be overjoyed at the meeting.

In a moment he recovered his usual self-possessed manner, and when I
asked after Doña Demetria he answered after a moments hesitation that
she was in very good health.

"Come, Don Hilario," I said, "we are close to my aunt Isidora's house,
where I am staying, and it will give me great pleasure to present you
to my wife, who will be glad to thank you for your kindness to me at
the _estancia_."

"Your wife, Don Ricardo! Do you tell me that you are married?" he
exclaimed in amazement, thinking probably that I was already the husband
of Demetria.

"What, did I not tell you before!" I said. "Ah, I remember speaking
to Doña Demetria about it. Strange that she has not mentioned it to
you. Yes, I was married before coming to this country--my wife is an
Argentine. Come with me and you shall see a beautiful woman, if that
is an inducement."

He was without doubt astonished and mystified, but he had recovered
his mask, and was now polite, collected, watchful.

When we entered the house I presented him to Doña Isidora, who happened
to be in the way, and left her to entertain him. I was very glad to
do so, knowing that he would seize the opportunity to try and discover
something from the garrulous old lady, and that he would discover
nothing, since she had not been let into our secrets.

I found Paquíta lying down in her room having a siesta; and while she
arrayed herself at my express desire in her best dress--a black velvet
which set off her matchless beauty better than anything else, I told
her how I wished her to treat Don Hilario. She knew all about him, of
course, and hated him with all her heart, looking on him as a kind of
evil genius from whose castle I had carried off the unhappy Demetria;
but I made her understand that our wisest plan was to treat him
graciously. She readily consented, for Argentine women can be more
charmingly gracious than any other women on the globe, and what people
do well they like to be called on to do.

The subtle caution of our snaky guest did not serve to hide from my
watchful eyes that he was very much surprised when he beheld her. She
placed herself near him and spoke in her sweetest, artless manner of
the pleasure my return had given her, and of the gratitude she had
felt towards him and all the people at the _estancia_ Peralta for
the hospitable treatment I had received there. He was, as I had
foreseen, completely carried away by her exquisite beauty and the charm
of her manner towards him. He was flattered, and exerted himself to
be agreeable, but at the same time he was very much puzzled. The baffled
expression was more apparent on his face every moment, while his
restless glances darted here and there about the room, yet ever
returned, like the doomed moth to the candle, to those lustrous violet
eyes overflowing with hypocritical kindness. Paquíta's acting delighted
me, and I only hoped that he would long suffer from the effect of the
subtle poison she was introducing into his system. When he rose to go
I was sure that Demetria's disappearance was a greater mystery to him
than ever; and as a parting shot I warmly invited him to come and see
us frequently while he remained in the capital, even offering him a
bed in the house; while Paquíta, not to be behindhand, for she had
thoroughly entered into the fun of the thing, entrusted him with a
prettily worded, affectionate message to Demetria, a person whom she
already loved and hoped some day to meet.

Two days after this adventure I heard that Don Hilario had left
Montevideo. That he had discovered nothing I was positive; it was
possible, however, that he had left some person to watch the house,
and, as Paquíta was now anxious to get back to her own country, I
determined to delay our departure no longer.

Going down to the harbour, I found the captain of a small schooner
trading between Montevideo and Buenos Ayres, and, learning that he
intended leaving for the last port in three days' time, I bargained
with him to take us, and got him also to consent to receive Demetria
on board at once. I then sent a message to Mr. Barker, asking him to
bring his guest up to town and put her on board the schooner without
coming near me. Two days later, early in the morning, I heard that she
was safe on board; and, having thus baffled the scoundrel Hilario, on
whose ophidian skull I should have been very pleased to set my heel,
and having still an idle day before me, I went once more to visit the
mountain, to take from its summit my last view of the Purple Land where
I had spent so many eventful days.

When I approached the crest of the great, solitary hill I did not gaze
admiringly on the magnificent view that opened before me, nor did the
wind, blowing fresh from the beloved Atlantic, seem to exhilarate me.
My eyes were cast down and I dragged my feet like one that was weary.
Yet I was not weary, but now I began to remember that on a former
occasion I had on this mountain spoken many vain and foolish things
concerning a people about whose character and history I was then
ignorant. I also remembered with exceeding bitterness that my visit
to this land had been the cause of great and perhaps lasting sorrow
to one noble heart.

How often, said I to myself, have I repented of those cruel, scornful
words I addressed to Dolores at our last interview; and now once more
"I come to pluck the berries harsh and crude" of repentance and of
expiation, to humble my insular pride in the dust and unsay all the
unjust things I formerly spoke in my haste.

It is not an exclusively British characteristic to regard the people
of other nationalities with a certain amount of contempt, but with us,
perhaps, the feeling is stronger than with others, or else expressed
with less reserve. Let me now at last rid myself of this error, which
is harmless and perhaps even commendable in those who stay at home,
and also very natural, since it is a part of our unreasonable nature
to distrust and dislike the things that are far removed and unfamiliar.
Let me at last divest myself of these old English spectacles, framed
in oak and with lenses of horn, to bury them for ever in this mountain,
which for half a century and upwards has looked down on the struggles
of a young and feeble people against foreign aggression and domestic
foes, and where a few months ago I sang the praises of British
civilisation, lamenting that it had been planted here and abundantly
watered with blood, only to be plucked up again and cast into the sea.
After my rambles in the interior, where I carried about in me only a
fading remnant of that old time-honoured superstition to prevent the
most perfect sympathy between me and the natives I mixed with, I cannot
say that I am of that opinion now. I cannot believe that if this country
had been conquered and re-colonised by England, and all that is crooked
in it made straight according to our notions, my intercourse with the
people would have had the wild, delightful flavour I have found in it.
And if that distinctive flavour cannot be had along with the material
prosperity resulting from Anglo-Saxon energy, I must breathe the wish
that this land may never know such prosperity. I do not wish to be
murdered; no man does; yet rather than see the ostrich and deer chased
beyond the horizon, the flamingo and black-necked swan slain on the
blue lakes, and the herdsman sent to twang his romantic guitar in Hades
as a preliminary to security of person, I would prefer to go about
prepared at any moment to defend my life against the sudden assaults
of the assassin.

We do not live by bread alone, and British occupation does not give
to the heart all the things for which it craves. Blessings may even
become curses when the gigantic power that bestows them on us scares
from our midst the shy spirits of Beauty and of Poesy. Nor is it solely
because it appeals to the poetic feelings in us that this country
endears itself to my heart. It is the perfect republic: the sense of
emancipation experienced in it by the wanderer from the Old World is
indescribably sweet and novel. Even in our ultra-civilised condition
at home we do periodically escape back to nature; and, breathing the
fresh mountain air and gazing over vast expanses of ocean and land,
we find that she is still very much to us. It is something more than
these bodily sensations we experience when first mingling with our
fellow-creatures, where all men are absolutely free and equal as here.
I fancy I hear some wise person exclaiming, "No, no, no! In name only
is your Purple Land a republic; its constitution is a piece of waste
paper, its government an oligarchy tempered by assassination and
revolution." True; but the knot of ambitious rulers all striving to
pluck each other down have no power to make the people miserable.
Theunwritten constitution, mightier than the written one, is in the heart
of every man to make him still a republican and free with a freedom
it would be hard to match anywhere else on the globe. The Bedouin
himself is not so free, since he accords an almost superstitious
reverence and implicit obedience to his sheikh. Here the lord of many
leagues of land and of herds unnumbered sits down to talk with the
hired shepherd, a poor, bare-footed fellow in his smoky _rancho_,
and no class or caste difference divides them, no consciousness of
their widely different positions chills the warm current of sympathy
between two human hearts. How refreshing it is to meet with this perfect
freedom of intercourse, tempered only by that innate courtesy and
native grace of manner peculiar to Spanish Americans! What a change
to a person coming from lands with higher and lower classes, each with
its innumerable hateful subdivisions--to one who aspires not to mingle
with the class above him, yet who shudders at the slouching carriage
and abject demeanour of the class beneath him! If this absolute equality
is inconsistent with perfect political order, I for one should grieve
to see such order established. Moreover, it is by no means true that
the communities which oftenest startle us with crimes of disorder and
violence are morally worse than others. A community in which there are
not many crimes cannot be morally healthy. There were practically
_no_ crimes in Peru under the Inca dynasty; it was a marvellous
thing for a person to commit an offence in that empire. And the reason
for this most unnatural state of things was this--the Inca system of
government was founded on that most iniquitous and disastrous doctrine
that the individual bears the same relation to the State as a child
to its parents, that its life from the cradle to the grave must be
regulated for it by a power it is taught to regard as omniscient--a
power practically omnipresent and almighty. In such a state there could
be no individual will, no healthy play of passions, and consequently
no crime. What wonder that a system so unspeakably repugnant to a being
who feels that his will is a divinity working within him fell to pieces
at the first touch of foreign invasion, or that it left no vestige of
its pernicious existence on the continent it had ruled! For the whole
state was, so to speak, putrid even before dissolution, and when it
fell it mingled with the dust and was forgotten. Poland, before its
conquest by Russia, a country ill-governed and disorderly as the Banda
Orientál, did not mingle with dust like that when it fell--the
implacable despotism of the Czar was unable to crush its fierce spirit;
its _Will_ still survived to gild dreary oppression with hallowed
dreams, to make it clutch with a fearful joy the dagger concealed in
its bosom. But I had no need to go away from this Green Continent to
illustrate the truth of what I have said. People who talk and write
about the disorderly South American republics are fond of pointing to
Brazil, that great, peaceful, progressive empire, as setting an example
to be followed. An orderly country, yes, and the people in it steeped
to their lips in every abominable vice! Compared with these emasculated
children of the equator, the Orientals are Nature's noblemen.

I can very well imagine some over-righteous person saying, "Alas, poor
deluded soul, how little importance can we attach to your specious
apologies of a people's lawlessness, when your own personal narrative
shows that the moral atmosphere you have been breathing has quite
corrupted you! Go back over your own record, and you will find that
you have, according to _our_ notions, offended in various ways
and on divers occasions, and that you are even without the grace to
repent of all the evil things you have thought, said, and done."

I have not read many books of philosophy, because when I tried to be
a philosopher "happiness was always breaking in," as someone says;
also because I have loved to study men rather than books; but in the
little I have read there occurs a passage I remember well, and this
I shall quote as my answer to anyone who may call me an immoral person
because my passions have not always remained in a quiescent state,
like hounds--to quote the simile of a South American poet--slumbering
at the feet of the huntsman resting against a rock at noon. "We should
regard the perturbations of the mind," says Spinoza, "not in the light
of vices of human nature, but as properties just as pertinent to it
as are heat, storms, thunder, and the like, to the nature of the
atmosphere, which phenomena, though inconvenient, are yet necessary,
and have fixed causes by means of which we endeavour to understand
their nature, and the mind has just as much pleasure in seeing them
aright as in knowing such things as flatter the senses." Let me have
the phenomena which are inconvenient as well as the things which flatter
the senses, and the chances are that my life will be a healthier and
happier one than that of the person who spends his time on a cloud
blushing at Nature's naughtiness.

It is often said that an ideal state--a Utopia where there is no folly,
crime, or sorrow--has a singular fascination for the mind. Now, when
I meet with a falsehood, I care not who the great persons who proclaim
it may be, I do not try to like it or believe it or mimic the
fashionable prattle of the world about it. I hate all dreams of
perpetual peace, all wonderful cities of the sun, where people consume
their joyful, monotonous years in mystic contemplations, or find their
delight, like Buddhist monks, in gazing on the ashes of dead generations
of devotees. The state is one unnatural, unspeakably repugnant: the
dreamless sleep of the grave is more tolerable to the active, healthy
mind than such an existence. If Signor Gaudentio di Lucca, still keeping
himself alive by means of his marvellous knowledge of the secrets of
Nature, were to appear before me now on this mountain to inform me
that the sacred community he resided with in Central Africa was no
mere dream, and should offer to conduct me to it, I should decline to
go with him. I should prefer to remain in the Banda Orientál, even
though by so doing I should grow at last to be as bad as any person
in it, and ready to "wade through slaughter" to the Presidential Chair.
For even in my own country of England, which is not so perfect as old
Peru or the Pophar's country in Central Africa, I have been long divided
from Nature, and now in this Oriental country, whose political misdeeds
are a scandal alike to pure England and impure Brazil, I have been
reunited to her. For this reason I love her with all her faults. Here,
like Santa Coloma, I will kneel down and kiss this stone, as an infant
might kiss the breast that feeds it; here, fearless of dirt, like John
Carrickfergus, I will thrust my hands into the loose brown soil to
clasp the hands, as it were, of dear mother Nature after our long
separation.

Farewell, beautiful land of sunshine and storm, of virtue and of crime;
may the invaders of the future fare on your soil like those of the
past and leave you in the end to your own devices; may the chivalrous
instinct of Santa Coloma, the passion of Dolores, the loving-kindness
of Candelaria still live in your children to brighten their lives with
romance and beauty; may the blight of our superior civilisation never
fall on your wild flowers, or the yoke of our progress be laid on your
herdsman--careless, graceful, music-loving as the birds--to make him
like the sullen, abject peasant of the Old World!




CHAPTER XXIX


The meeting of my fellow-travellers took place next day on board the
ship, where we three were the only cabin passengers. On going down
into the little saloon I found Demetria waiting for us, considerably
improved in appearance by her new dress, but looking pale and anxious,
for she probably found this meeting a trying one. The two women looked
earnestly at each other, but Demetria, to hide her nervousness, I
suppose, had framed her face in the old, impassive, almost cold
expression it had worn when I first knew her, and Paquíta was repelled
by it; so after a somewhat lukewarm greeting they sat down and made
commonplace remarks. Two women more unlike each other in appearance,
character, education, and disposition it would have been difficult to
find; still, I had hoped they might be friends, and felt keenly
disappointed at the result of their first meeting. After an
uncomfortable interval we all rose. I was about to proceed to the deck,
they to their respective cabins, when Paquíta, without any warning of
what was coming, suddenly burst into tears and threw her arms about
Demetria's neck.

"Oh, dear Demetria, what a sad life yours has been!" she exclaimed.

That was like her, so impulsive, and with such a true instinct to make
her do the right thing always! The other gladly responded to the
embrace, and I hastily retreated, leaving them kissing and mingling
their tears.

When I got out on deck I found that we were already on our way, sails
up, and a fresh wind sending us swiftly through the dull green water.
There were five steerage passengers, disreputable-looking fellows in
_ponchos_ and slouch hats, lounging about the deck smoking; but
when we got outside the harbour and the ship began to toss a little,
they very soon dropped their cigars and began ignominiously creeping
away out of sight of the grinning sailors. Only one remained, a
grizzly-bearded, rough-looking old gaucho, who firmly kept his seat
at the stern, as if determined to see the last of "The Mount," as the
pretty city near the foot of Magellan's Hill is called by the English
people in this region.

To satisfy myself that none of these fellows were sent in pursuit of
Demetria, I asked our Italian captain who they were and how long they
had been on board, and was much relieved to hear that they were
fugitives--rebels probably--and had all been concealed for the past
three or four days in the ship, waiting to get away from Montevideo.

Towards evening it came on very rough, the wind veering to the south
and blowing half a gale, a very favourable wind, as it happened, to
take us across this unlovely "Silver Sea," as the poets of the Plata
insist on calling it, with its villainous, brick-red, chopping waves,
so disagreeable to bad sailors. Paquíta and Demetria suffered agonies,
so that I was obliged to keep with them a good deal. I very imprudently
told them not to be alarmed, that it was nothing--_only
sea-sickness_--and I verily believe they both hated me with all
their hearts for a little while in consequence. Fortunately I had
anticipated these harrowing scenes, and had provided a bottle of
champagne for the occasion; and after I had consumed two or three
glassfuls to encourage them, showing how easy this kind of medicine
is to take, I prevailed on them to drink the remainder. At length,
about ten o'clock in the evening, they began to suspect that their
malady was not going to prove fatal, and, seeing them so much better,
I went up to get some fresh air. There at the stern still sat the
stoical old gaucho, looking extremely miserable.

"Good evening, old comrade," said I; "will you smoke a cigar?"

"Young master, you seem to have a good heart," he returned, shaking
his head at the proffered cigar, "do, for God's sake, get me a little
rum. I am dying for something to warm my inside and stop my head from
going round like a top, but nothing can I get from these jabbering
foreign brutes on board."

"Yes, why not, my old friend," said I, and, going to the master of the
boat, I succeeded in getting a pint of rum in a bottle.

The old fellow clutched it with eager delight and took a long draught.
"Ah!" he said, patting first the bottle, then his stomach, "this puts
new life into a man! Will this voyage never end, master? When I am on
horseback I can forget that I am old, but these cursed waves remind
me that I have lived many years."

I lit my cigar and sat down to have a talk with him.

"Ah, with you foreigners it is just the same--land or water," he
continued. "You can even smoke--what a calm head and quiet stomach you
must have! But what puzzles me is this, señor; how you, a foreigner,
come to be travelling with native women. Now, there is that beautiful
young señora with the violet eyes, who can she be?"

"She is my wife, old man," said I, laughing, a little amused at his
curiosity.

"Ah, you are married then--so young? She is beautiful, graceful, well
educated, the daughter of wealthy parents, no doubt, but frail, frail,
señor; and some day, not a very distant day--but why should I predict
sorrow to a gay heart? Only her face, señor, is strange to me; it does
not recall the features of any Oriental family I know."

"That is easily explained," I said, surprised at his shrewdness, "she
is an Argentine, not an Oriental."

"Ah, that explains it," he said, taking another long pull at the bottle.
"As for the other señora with you, I need not ask you who _she_
is."

"Why, who is she?" I returned.

"A Peralta, if there ever was one," he returned confidently.

His reply disturbed me not a little, for, after all my precautions,
this old man had perhaps been sent to follow Demetria.

"Yes," he continued, with an evident pride in his knowledge of families
and faces which tended to allay my suspicions; "a Peralta and not a
Madariaga, nor a Sanchez, nor a Zelaya, nor an Ibarra. Do I not know
a Peralta when I see one?" And here he laughed scornfully at the
absurdity of such an idea.

"Tell me," I said, "how do you know a Peralta?"

"The question!" he exclaimed. "You are a Frenchman or a German from
over the sea, and do not understand these things. Have I borne arms
forty years in my country's service not to know a Peralta! On earth
they are with me; if I go to Heaven I meet them there, and in Hell I
see them; for when have I charged into the hottest of the fight and
have not found a Peralta there before me? But I am speaking of the
past, señor; for now I am also like one that has been left on the field
forgotten--left for the vultures and foxes. You will no longer find
them walking on the earth; only where men have rushed together sword
in hand you will find their bones. Ah, friend!" And here, overcome
with sad memories, the ancient warrior took another drink from his
bottle.

"They cannot all be dead," said I, "if, as you imagine, the señora
travelling with me is a Peralta."

"As I imagine!" he repeated scornfully. "Do I not know what I am talking
about, young sir? They are dead, I tell you--dead as the past, dead
as Oriental independence and honour. Did I not ride into the fight at
Gil de los Medanos with the last of the Peraltas, Calixto, when he
received his baptism of blood? Fifteen years old, señor, only fifteen,
when he galloped into the fight, for he had the light heart, the brave
spirit, and the hand swift to strike of a Peralta. And after the fight
our colonel, Santa Coloma, who was killed the other day at San Paulo,
embraced the boy before all the troops. He is dead, señor, and with
Calixto died the house of Peralta."

"You knew Santa Coloma, then?" I said. "But you are mistaken, he was
not killed at San Paulo, he made his escape."

"So they say--the ignorant ones," he returned. "But he is dead, for
he loved his country, and all who are of that mind are slain. How
should he escape?"

"I tell you he is not dead," I repeated, vexed at his stubborn
persistence. "I also knew him, old man, and was with him at San Paulo."

He looked at me for a long time, and then took another swig from his
bottle.

"Señor, this is not a thing I love joking about," said he. "Let us
talk of other things. What I want to know is, what is Calixto's sister
doing here? Why has she left her country?"

Receiving no reply to this question, he went on: "Has she not got
property? Yes, a large _estancia_, impoverished, ruined, if you
like, but still a very large tract of land. When your enemies do not
fear you, then they cease to persecute. A broken old man, bereft of
reason--surely they would not trouble him! No, no, she is leaving her
country for other reasons. Yes, there is some private plot against
her; some design, perhaps, to carry her off, or even to destroy her
and get possession of her property. Naturally, in such a case, she
would fly for protection to Buenos Ayres, where there is one with some
of her blood in his veins able to protect her person and her property."

I was astonished to hear him, but his last words were a mystery to me.

"There is no one in Buenos Ayres to protect her," I said; "I only will
be there as I am here to shield her, and if, as you think, she has an
enemy, he must reckon with me--one who, like that Calixto you speak
of, has a hand quick to strike."

"There spoke the heart of a Blanco!" he exclaimed, clutching my arm,
and then, the boat giving a lurch at that moment, almost dragging me
down in his efforts to steady himself. After another sip of rum he
went on: "But who are you, young sir, if that is not an impertinent
question? Do you possess money, influence, powerful friends, that you
take upon yourself the care of this woman? Is it in your power to
baffle and crush her enemy or enemies, to protect not only her person,
but her property, which, in her absence, will become the prey of
robbers?"

"And who are you, old man?" I returned, unable to give a satisfactory
answer to one of his searching questions, "and why do you ask me these
things? And who is this powerful person you speak of in Buenos Ayres
with some of her blood in his veins, but of whose existence she is
ignorant?"

He shook his head silently, then deliberately proceeded to take out
and light a cigarette. He smoked with a placid enjoyment which made
me think that his refusal of my cigar and his bitter complaints about
the effects of the ship's tossing on him had merely been to get the
bottle of rum out of me. He was evidently a veteran in more senses
than one, and now, finding that I would tell him no more secrets, he
refused to answer any questions. Fearing that I had imprudently told
him too much already, I finally left him and retired to my bunk.

Next morning we arrived at Buenos Ayres, and cast anchor about two
miles from shore, for that was as near the land as we could get.
Presently we were boarded by a Custom House officer, and for some time
longer I was engaged in getting out our luggage and in bargaining with
the captain to put us on shore. When I had completed these arrangements
I was very much surprised to see the cunning old soldier I had talked
with the evening before sitting in the Custom House boat, which was
just putting off from the side. Demetria had been looking on when the
old fellow had left the ship, and she now came to me looking very
excited.

"Richard," she said, "did you notice that man who was a passenger with
us and who has just gone off in the boat? It is Santa Coloma."

"Oh, absurd!" I exclaimed. "I talked with that old man last night for
an hour--an old grey-bearded gaucho, and no more like Santa Coloma
than that sailor."

"I know I am right," she returned. "The General has visited my father
at the _estancia_ and I know him well. He is disguised now and
has made himself look like a peasant, but when he went over the side
into the boat he looked full into my face; I knew him and started,
then he smiled, for he saw that I had recognised him."

The very fact that this common-looking old man had gone on shore in
the Custom House boat proved that he was a person of consequence in
disguise, and I could not doubt that Demetria was right. I felt
excessively annoyed at myself for having failed to penetrate his
disguise; for something of the old Marcos Marcó style of speaking might
very well have revealed his identity if I had only had my wits about
me. I was also very much concerned on Demetria's account, for it seemed
that I had missed finding out something for her which would have been
to her advantage to know. I was ashamed to tell her of that conversation
about a relation in Buenos Ayres, but secretly determined to try and
find Santa Coloma to get him to tell me what he knew.

After landing we put our small luggage into a fly and were driven to
an hotel in Calle Lima, an out-of-the-way place kept by a German; but
I knew the house to be a quiet, respectable one and very moderate in
its charges.

About five o'clock in the afternoon we were together in the sitting-room
on the first floor, looking down on the street from the window, when
a well-appointed carriage with a gentleman and two young ladies in it
drew up before the door.

"Oh, Richard," exclaimed Paquíta in the greatest excitement, "it is
Don Pantaleon Villaverde with his daughters, and they are getting out!"

"Who is Villaverde?" I asked.

"What, do you not know? He is a Judge of First Instance, and his
daughters are my dearest friends. Is it not strange to meet them like
this? Oh, I must see them to ask for _papa_ and _mamita!_" and here she
began to cry.

The waiter came up with a card from the Señor Villaverde requesting
an interview with the Señorita Peralta.

Demetria, who had been trying to soothe Paquíta's intense excitement
and infuse a little courage into her, was too much amazed to speak;
and in another moment our visitors were in the room. Paquíta started
up tearful and trembling; then her two young friends, after staring
at her for a few moments, delivered a screech of astonishment and
rushed into her arms, and all three were locked together for some time
in a triangular embrace.

When the excitement of this tempestuous meeting had spent itself, Señor
Villaverde, who stood looking on with grave, impressive face, spoke
to Demetria, telling her that his old friend, General Santa Coloma,
had just informed him of her arrival in Buenos Ayres and of the hotel
where she was staying. Probably she did not even know who he was, he
said; he was her relation; his mother was a Peralta, a first cousin
of her unhappy father, Colonel Peralta. He had come to see her with
his daughters to invite her to make his house her home during her stay
in Buenos Ayres. He also wished to help her with her affairs, which,
his friend the General had informed him, were in some confusion. He
had, he concluded, many influential friends in the sister city, who
would be ready to assist him in arranging matters for her.

Demetria, recovering from the nervousness she had experienced on finding
that Paquíta's great friends were her visitors, thanked him warmly and
accepted his offer of a home and assistance; then, with a quiet dignity
and self-possession one would hardly expect from a girl coming amongst
fashionable people for the first time in her life, she greeted her
new-found relations and thanked them for their visit.

As they insisted on taking Demetria away with them at once, she left
us to make her preparations, while Paquíta remained conversing with
her friends, having many questions to ask them. She was consumed with
anxiety to know how her family, and especially her father, who made
the domestic laws, now, after so many months, regarded her elopement
and marriage with me. Her friends, however, either knew nothing or
would not tell her what they knew.

Poor Demetria! she had, with no time given her for reflection, taken
the wise course of at once accepting the offer of her influential and
extremely dignified kinsman; but it was hard for her to leave her
friends at such short notice, and when she came back prepared for her
departure the separation tried her severely. With tears in her eyes
she bade Paquíta farewell, but when she took my hand in hers, for some
time her trembling lips refused to speak. Overcoming her emotions by
a great effort, she at length said, addressing her visitors, "For my
escape from a sad and perilous position and for the pleasure of finding
myself here amongst relations, I am indebted to this young friend who
has been a brother to me."

Señor Villaverde listened and bowed towards me, but with no softening
in his stern, calm face, while his cold grey eyes seemed to look
straight through me at something beyond. His manner towards me made
me feel a kind of despair, for how strong must have been his disapproval
of my conduct in running off with his friend's daughter--how great his
indignation against me, when it prevented him from bestowing one smile
or one kind word on me to thank me for all I had done for his kinswoman!
Yet this was only the reflected indignation of my father-in-law.

We went down to the carriage to see them off, and then, finding myself
for a moment by the side of one of the young ladies, I tried to find
out something for myself. "Pray tell me, señorita," I said, "what you
know about my father-in-law. If it is very bad, I promise you my wife
shall not hear a word of it; but it is best that I should know the
truth before meeting him."

A cloud came over her bright, expressive face, while she glanced
anxiously at Paquíta; then, bending towards me, she whispered, "Ah,
my friend, he is implacable! I am so sorry, for Paquíta's sake." And
then, with a smile of irrepressible coquetry, she added, "And for
yours."

The carriage drove away, and Demetria's eyes, looking back at me, were
filled with tears, but in Señor Villaverde's eyes, also glancing back,
there was an expression that boded ill for my future. His feeling was
natural, perhaps, for he was the father of two very pretty girls.

Implacable, and I was now divided from him by no silver or
brick-coloured sea! By returning I had made myself amenable to the
laws I had broken by marrying a girl under age without her father's
consent. The person in England who runs away with a ward in Chancery
is not a greater offender against the law than I was. It was now in
his power to have me punished, to cast me into prison for an indefinite
time, and if not to crush my spirit, he would at least be able to break
the heart of his unhappy daughter. Those wild, troubled days in the
Purple Land now seemed to my mind peaceful, happy days, and the bitter
days with no pleasure in them were only now about to begin. Implacable!

Suddenly looking up, I found Paquíta's violet eyes, full of sad
questioning, fixed on my face.

"Tell me truly, Richard, what have you heard?" she asked.

I forced a smile, and, taking her hand, assured her that I had heard
nothing to cause her any uneasiness. "Come," I said, "let us go in and
prepare to leave town to-morrow. We will go back to the point we started
from--your father's _estancia_, for the sooner this meeting you
are thinking about so anxiously is over the better will it be for all
of us."




APPENDIX



HISTORY OF THE BANDA ORIENTÁL


The country, called in this work the Purple Land, was discovered by
Magellan in the year 1500, and he called the hill, or mountain, which
gives its name to the capital, Monte Vidi. He described it as a
hat-shaped mountain; and it is probable that, four centuries ago, the
tall, conical hat, which is worn to this day by women in South Wales,
was a common form in Spain and Portugal.

In due time settlements were made; but the colonists of those days
loved gold and adventure above everything, and, finding neither in the
Banda, they little esteemed it. For two centuries it was neglected by
its white possessors, while the cattle they had imported continued to
multiply, and, returning to a feral life, overran the country in amazing
numbers.

The heroic period in South American history then passed away. El Dorado,
the Spaniard's New Jerusalem, has changed into a bank of malarious
mist and a cloud of mosquitoes, Amazons, giants, pigmies.

    "The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
    Do grow beneath their shoulders,"

when closely looked for, turned out to be Red Indians of a type which
varied but little throughout the entire vast continent. Wanderers from
the Old World grew weary of seeking the tropics only to sink into
flowery graves. They turned away sick at heart from the great desolation
where the splendid empire of the Children of the Sun had so lately
flourished. The accumulated treasures had been squandered. The cruel
crusades of the Paulists against the Jesuit missions had ceased for
the inhuman slave-hunters had utterly destroyed the smiling gardens
in the wilderness. A remnant of the escaped converts had gone back to
a wild life in the woods, and the Fathers, who had done their Master's
work so well, drifted away to mingle in other scenes or die of broken
hearts. Then, in the sober eighteenth century, when the disillusion
was complete, Spain woke up to the fact that in the temperate part of
the continent, shared by her with Portugal, she possessed a new bright
little Spain worth cultivating. About the same time, Portugal discovered
that the acquisition of this pretty country, with its lovely Lusitanian
climate, would nicely round off her vast possessions on the south side.
Forthwith these two great colonising powers fell to fighting over the
Banda, where there were no temples of beaten gold, or mythical races
of men, or fountains of everlasting youth. The quarrel might have
continued to the end of time, so languidly was it conducted by both
parties, had not great events come to swallow up the little ones.

At the beginning of the nineteenth century the English invasion burst
like a sudden terrible thunderstorm on the country. Montevideo on the
east and Buenos Ayres on the west side of the sea-like river were
captured and lost again. The storm was soon over, but it had the effect
of precipitating the revolution of 1810, which presently ended in the
loss to Spain of all her American possessions. These changes brought
only fresh wars and calamities to the long-suffering Banda. The ancient
feud between Spain and Portugal descended to the new Brazilian Empire
and the new Argentine Confederation, and these claimants contended for
the country until 1828, when they finally agreed to let it govern
itself in its own fashion. After thus acquiring its independence, the
little Belgium of the New World cast off its pretty but hated
appellation of Cisplatina and resumed its old joyous name of Banda
Orientál. With light hearts the people then proceeded to divide
themselves into two political parties--Whites and Reds. Endless
struggles for mastery ensued, in which the Argentines and Brazilians,
forgetting their solemn compact, were for ever taking sides. But of
these wars of crows and pies it would be idle to say more, since, after
going on for three-quarters of a century, they are not wholly ended
yet. The rambles and adventures described in the book take us back to
the late 'sixties or early 'seventies of the last century, when the
country was still in the condition in which it had remained since the
colonial days, when the ten years' siege of Montevideo was not yet a
remote event, and many of the people one met had had a part in it.






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